Whitechapel Burning
by ArthM
Summary: The third series of 'Ice Cool Whitechapel', continuing from where the last left off. Whitechapel prepares to meet its most unexpected, yet unfortunately familiar, enemy so far - Ethan. Now in episode 4.
1. Episode 1 - Requiem

**So, here we go then: the sequel to the sequel to Ice Cool Whitechapel! If you haven't read the previous two series, then you probably should, because much of this won't make sense otherwise. I'm looking forwards to having fun with this story: with its plot, with its character - and with you. With Ethan as its primary villain, this is, I suspect, going to be a rather unusual addition to the MBAV fan-fic world, so don't expect anything to be as it seems...**

**As usual, I own nothing, and, as ever, am very, very keen for reviews and comments.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Requiem

* * *

**Earth to earth**

The spade broke the crust of the earth with a decisive crunch. The brown soil bubbled up the blade, and was thrown off to side, the worms within wriggling away to safer pastures. The green grass still twinkled happily around the little mound of dirt.

That would not last.

Again the spade plunged into the ground; again soil was cast off to the side. And again. And again. The spade flashed in the early morning sunlight. The sun had risen lazily that day, as if reluctant to watch over the events of the coming day.

Who would blame it?

The soil was still a little hard with frost. Occasionally, lumps of earth would be bound together by gossamer strands of white. On hitting the ground, they would shatter, and water dripped, like tears, into the earth once more. It took a bit of effort to dig that morning, but what had to be dug had to be dug. For now, the hole was small – barely a hollow.

But it would grow.

* * *

Ethan sauntered along a side-street near one of the posher residential areas in Whitechapel. Here, they imagined that they were in their own little chocolate-box village, separate from the main town, with their tantalizing faux old-fashioned shops and 'independent' traders. They liked to think of themselves as in a rural idyll – they couldn't quite give up the guilty pleasure of the convenience of the larger town, though. They liked having a hospital, and a school, and a train station. They even (though they would never have admitted it) liked the supermarket – the very one that they had all protested about. All it needed was a little honey-coloured church and they could have been in any village on any biscuit tin in England.

Except, of course, Ethan noted to himself, that they were in Canada. And there lay the problem with the whole set-up. It was a delectable fantasy based on a saccharine nostalgia for something that they, or even their ancestors (except fairly distantly), had never known. He smiled to himself at their self-delusion. Let them have it. It did no harm.

Stopping at the plate-glass window of a 'Boutique Patisserie' (OK, maybe not so _English_ after all…), Ethan checked his reflection. It took him a moment to realise that it wasn't there. He chuckled at himself for forgetting already. He felt his brain acted a bit like fudge, at times. It was, admittedly, probably the most annoying thing about becoming a vampire. Sighing, a little bitter, he took a tissue from his pocket, spat on it, and rubbed his chin, mouth, and cheeks. It took on a faint red tinge – not blood-red, incidentally, but more a … strawberry. It would have to do. Ethan ran his tongue around his teeth, and then licked his lips, hoping that he had rubbed any blood off of them. Right. Ready.

He went on walking. Every now and again, he would swipe a flower from someone's front garden – each one immaculate, tasteful and almost identical in their arrangements – Ethan wondered idly whether there had been a suggestion on some TV gardening show. As he walked, he gathered his flowers into a loose bouquet. Hyacinths, roses, lilacs, snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells – he voraciously collected them all.

Reaching another crisp, pristine garden, he stopped, and broke off a lemon-yellow daffodil by the gate. He stared at it, smiling, before adding it, in pride of place, to his collection. He pushed open the quaint wooden gate. The hinges were well oiled, he noticed, without the least hint of a squeal. Ethan then made his way up the neatly paved path, precisely aligned between two stretches of short-cropped grass. With an easy lope, he mounted the front step, and rang the door-bell.

He waited, shifting his flowers from hand to hand, and anxiously trying to rub the blood off his teeth. He glanced down at his top. Fortunately, his jumper was still clean; the fluffy yellow duck resplendent in the sun.

As the door began to creakily open, Ethan quickly hid his flowers behind his back and smoothed down his hair.

"Ethan!" exclaimed Hannah in surprise.

Ethan smiled nervously, biting his lip. She smiled back, and frowned.

"Why are you here…?" she said, looking him up and down.

"I – I –" he stammered, and, then, jerkily, brought the flowers from behind his back. "I love you."

Bright eyed and grinning helplessly, Hannah took the bunch in her hand, which was shaking with excitement. "Oh – Ethan – really – I didn't think that you'd consider –"

"Is that a 'yes'?" asked Ethan, shyly.

She swallowed, then nodded, then leaned forwards and kissed him. "Yes, Ethan, yes!" After she was done, she pulled back, staring at him with a wide, joyful grin on her face. "I just never thought that someone like _you_ would even _consider_ me," she gushed, "and then there was always _Sarah_, who is _so_ nice and _so_ pretty, and, well, I didn't think boring little me had a _hope_ of even being _noticed_ by you!"

She beamed again, and Ethan was half-afraid that she was going to squeal with excitement and happiness. She didn't though, restraining herself slightly, and was content, it seemed, just to gaze at him adoringly. He smiled dopily back, and they held each other's gaze for a long time.

Hannah eventually broke the stare by dipping her head and sniffing greedily at the flowers, not noticing that she got a nose-full of bright yellow pollen from a lily. "These are _lovely_, Ethan," she said. "Where on _earth_ did you get them?"

"Oh, you know," replied Ethan, coyly, "_around_." He spread out his hands in a vague, and what he hoped was a mysterious, manner. She laughed, and, rather boldly, squeezed his nose on a playful impulse.

"I don't mind if you want to keep it a _secret_, Ethie."

_Ethie?_ Well, if that's how his name was sugared in her mouth, that's how it would stay. He smiled again. At the same moment, his stomach rumbled noisily. He looked a little sheepish and embarrassed, averting his gaze from hers and self-consciously covering his mouth.

Hannah giggled briefly at his momentary loss of poise. She stepped forwards and resting her hand lightly on his stomach, able to feel it vibrate slightly as it gurgled and sloshed. Putting her arms around his waist, she pressed herself close against him. She looked up into his face, amusement in her eyes.

"Hungry?" she asked, laughingly poking a finger into his midriff, which seemed, to her surprise, already rather full.

"Rather," he said, smiling. It was a moment before Hannah realised that the smile didn't reach his eyes. His black eyes. His black, cold, dead eyes that hung impassively like circles of treacle within his head. Her fearful gaze shifted a little, and she saw that the smile revealed two sharply pointed teeth, slightly red at the tips. She opened her mouth to scream – but Ethan swooped down and cut her off.

When she dropped to the ground, the daffodils, roses, hyacinths, lilacs, daisies, bluebells and snowdrops fanned out around her, crushed and scattered randomly across the porch. By some fluke, the white lily landed straight along her body, its petals turning crimson in the trickle of blood from her neck.

As he left, skipping on every other step to avoid the cracks in the paving, Ethan found himself laughing again.

* * *

It was remarkably easy, this vampire thing. He really had no idea what Sarah had made all the fuss about. Always whining about blood deliveries and so on, and, of course, that colossal upset when she actually _did_ drink someone's blood. People practically offered themselves up for draining!

Ethan leaned against a lamppost and looked up and down the road. All these people, wandering around so freely. He nodded and smiled cheerily at those who passed him, sharing a grin with those who smiled at his jumper. Any one of these he could follow, befriend, isolate, and kill. Just pick them off at random, really.

Hannah had been almost too easy, in hindsight. So pathetically eager to be loved. All he'd had to do was fake it a little, and –

No more Hannah. No more of that irritating little breathless gushy doe-eyed busybody, who followed him around, caught in the certainty of the delusion that because he didn't have a girlfriend, and she didn't have a boyfriend, then they were fated to be together. He snorted. As if! And after she'd become his - _Jane's -_ babysitter, it had been even worse. She'd felt that that had given her the right to follow him everywhere. Even the few minutes that he had pretended to love her revolted him.

There was a reprimanding gurgle from his stomach, where Hannah's blood swirled, mixing, Ethan supposed, with Benny's. He wondered if they would mingle. There, perhaps, Hannah might learn how hopeless her cause had been. Ethan patted his tummy, feeling the blood slosh around. All the same, now.

His stomach grumbled again. Was that his digestion, or was he hungry again? He wasn't sure. How much blood was a vampire meant to have? Was there an upper limit?

His eye caught someone on the other side of the road. He recognised them, vaguely. Someone fairly low down on the school hockey team, he thought. High enough, though, to throw his weight around at school. Ethan cracked his knuckles. Maybe it was time to use his new-found powers for good. Just this once – then he could go around biting people who didn't really deserve it. Licking his lips, he crossed the road, trailing the boy.

He smiled to himself. This was going to be fun!


	2. Requiem - Part 2

**Ashes to ashes**

The hole widened and elongated: two feet by six feet. It deepened, too: six feet again. The earth was darker down there. Cooler. Wetter – or was that melt-water from the morning's frost? The thick soil was shovelled up to the growing mound by the side. The grass was long buried, but, with each spadesful, there was a new collection of little living animals sent scurrying about in the weak sun.

The spade no longer flashed – it was too much in the shadow of the pit for the sun to catch it anymore. The dull, dirty metal now matched the dull, dirty job. Once, the grimy hand that held it slipped, and the spade fell with a clatter and a curse onto the ground. But that was the only time. Mostly, it was repetitive and smooth; without incident.

The edges straightened and were neatened. The hole was now an empty box; regular, rectangular, precise. Unnatural. At last, the digging stopped. It was deep enough now. The spade left; the man left, too.

The grave and the pile of earth stood alone. Waiting for the afternoon; waiting to be filled.

* * *

How could this have happened?

Sarah rocked back and forth, her arms around her knees, her eyes filled with tears. So sudden, and so – brutal. Ethan had – Ethan – Ethan! – to – to Benny – Benny! – How – Why –?

Sarah sobbed into her hands. If someone had told her about it, she wouldn't have believed them. She didn't really believe it now, and _she_ had found Benny. And now – and now Benny was – and Ethan was gone, and –

Sarah squeezed her eyes tightly together, and instantly regretted it as the moment when she had come across Benny flashed into her mind. She remembered spotting him lying on the bench. She'd called out playfully to him, teasing him for being a layabout. Laughing, she'd gone up to him and shaken his shoulder, wanting to wake him. It had only been then that she'd noticed that he wasn't moving at all. Wasn't breathing – wasn't –

Forcing her eyes open, Sarah tried to make the image of Benny's stiff body laid out on the bench disappear from her mind. She managed it, but it was replaced by her frantic, terrified flight with his body to his grandma. Sarah didn't think that she'd ever forget the shriek of anguish Mrs Weir had let out. She'd never thought that she would ever see Mrs Weir lose all composure. Well, that was wrong.

There was a whole list of wrong things now: Ethan a vampire, Ethan _evil_, Benny – Benny –

Sarah broke down again, pressing her head into her legs, trying to force all thoughts out of her head, but one remained:

How could this have happened?

* * *

Where was Erica?

Rory paced up and down, hands in his pockets. She'd said that she would be here ages ago. He'd rushed out specially to meet her on time. (She always complained that he was late. But, then, she didn't seem to mind _too_ much. In fact, she seemed to quite like complaining…) He'd even forgotten to bring her a present. Not that he usually remembered, of course. Ethan had had to remind him about Erica's birthday.

Good old reliable Ethan. What would he do without him? Rory sighed and cast an eye over the shrubbery. He could always take a few flowers and – No, no, that would be wrong. Deceitful. Erica loved him for what he was, forgetful and all. It was all part of the charm. Probably.

Well, this time, it seemed that it was _Erica_ that had forgotten. If he'd known that she was going to be _this_ late, then he could have gone off and got some flowers. Maybe he still could. Maybe he did have time –

But there she was. A blur, far off, but getting quickly closer. Rory took his hands out of his pockets, pulled up his jeans a little, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He spread his fingers wide. Right. Now, act normal. Should he mention that she was late? Probably not. No. That would be a _bad_ idea. Nodding to himself, he prepared his best smile.

"Hi, Erica! What kept you –?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he clamped his hand over his lips in a vain attempt to recapture them. He kicked himself, mentally, and, when that didn't seem enough, physically as well.

Erica, though, didn't notice, and, as Rory realised this, he looked closer, and saw that she was crying. He put his hand out to gently take her arm, but she enfolded him in a clumsy, weepy embrace, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Erica, Erica," he murmured, "what is it?"

"Ethan –" she started, but choked, and went back to crying for another minute. Concerned, Rory pulled away and held her by the shoulders, looking at her intently.

"Rory," she said, punctuating every other word with a long sniff, "Sarah found Benny – dead – Ethan did it –"

Rory blinked in shock. "Are you sure? How – How do you know it was – Ethan?"

"A vampire can tell," sobbed Erica miserably. "I know – I didn't want it to be true, but – but Ethan – he's killed Benny, and – Rory!"

Rory heard no more as he collapsed to the ground, the world receding rapidly into nowhere.

* * *

Was that nerd following him?

He looked around, as furtively as he could manage. Maybe. Who _was_ that kid? He recognised him faintly. From school, probably. He was probably one of the ones who took up air from the real people. Breathing in and breathing out was just wasted on nerds like him. And that jumper! Ridiculous!

He sniggered under his breath. Probably his mum had knitted it for him. So the little baby wouldn't get cold – oh, _that's _where he knew him from! He was the kid with the babysitter. Eddie, or something. Yeah. Hung around with the two other dorks. Surprised that mummy let him out on his own. He snorted. Well, if the guy was going to follow him, for whatever reason – had he ever taken his lunch money? – he'd get what was coming to him.

Not in public, of course. That would be undignified. He turned off into a side-street. The nerd could follow him down here. Nice and alone. One on one, if that's how he wanted it. Glancing into a car wing mirror, he frowned. The kid had gone. Ah, well. He stopped and shrugged to himself. Maybe he hadn't been following him after all. Maybe he'd chickened out. Maybe –

But that thought was stopped by a tap on his shoulder.

Ethan smiled.

* * *

Why?

That was the question that Mrs Weir kept thinking. Why had Ethan done this? What had gone wrong? She had been so sure that she'd excised the right part from him. And, afterwards, he'd seemed normal. A little subdued, maybe, but no worse than any other vampire. Better, even. He'd been just as well as he had been before. She couldn't understand it. She couldn't forgive herself for not noticing.

Oh, Sarah had tried to comfort her. Tried to tell her that Ethan was evil, and that there was nothing that anyone could have done. But she knew that that wasn't true. She didn't think that _Sarah_ believed it to be true. In fact, she knew she didn't. And she was right to do so.

She'd failed her own grandson when it was most important, and now – and now –

Mrs Weir crumpled into sobs again.

It was bad enough losing Benny, but to know that it had been at Ethan's hand, and that _she_ had created it – it was more than she could bear. She was responsible for the death of the thing she loved most – her Benny, her darling, wonderful, dear little Benny – and for the destruction of the second thing in her affections – innocent, charming, _good_ Ethan. Maybe on his own he could have fought the evil. But she had blundered in, as Benny – as poor Benny – as Benny used to do, and she had wrecked everything.

She had destroyed her world. Everything was black now. She didn't know what to do. Everything that she had ever known, it seemed, had been forced out of her by the shock of this. She could barely grieve for the boy she had raised, and loved, and cherished above all else in the world. What she had lived for these last sixteen – never to be seventeen – years. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move. She couldn't even think.

Sarah had brought her the body when she was in the garden. Sarah had said something to her, she knew, but she had been deaf to everything at that moment. It had been later, much later, after Sarah had laid Benny on the work-table and frantically, vainly tried to revive him, and where he still, she supposed, lay, that she had found out that it had been Ethan. She'd not wanted to believe it, but now she knew. Now she knew. But she still didn't understand.

Mrs Weir stared unseeing into Sarah's tear-stained face, weeping uncontrollably; ruined in a matter of moments.


	3. Requiem - Part 3

**Dust to dust**

The grave stood open for much of the day. At first, the inside was completely in shadow, but, as the sun moved up (or rather, as the modern theory goes, the earth moved _down_), light gradually filled the pit until, a little after noon, it was fully illuminated. It seemed nothing then. Just a fairly deep hole in the soil. Oddly regular, but not that unlike anything that one might make with a trowel for the planting of something or other.

And there was certainly going to be something planted in it.

Clouds passed in front of the sun, casting shadows – insubstantial imprints of insubstantial things – on the earth. They flickered with the passing time; wind quickly moved the shadows on. The grave itself was impassive to the changing shades of light; the wind, though, stirred a few small flecks of soil, and sent them crumbling into the pit. The edging didn't stay quite so perfect for very long, but it would have taken a much practiced eye to see the slight disintegration. In time, that _slight_ would become _severe_, and then the collapse would be seen by all.

But time was not to be had. Time was over. It would be filled that afternoon.

* * *

Licking his fingers, Ethan looked around him inquisitively. He didn't think he'd ever been here before. This was, he'd heard, the bad part of Whitechapel. He smirked to himself. Well, it was _now…_

He shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered along the street. Most houses had smashed windows, kicked in doors – even the street-signs looked like they'd been melted. Everywhere he looked radiated a kind of grim menace. Ethan started to whistle, a little out of tune. So far, no evidence of anything remotely aggressive. That was disappointing. He whistled a little louder, improvising on a nursery rhyme that he half remembered. How had it gone now…?

He was stopped in his reminiscing by a crunch from behind him. A trainer on broken glass, he thought. There was definitely enough lying about on the ground. He stopped short, and made a little show of being afraid, by freezing and then shaking slightly.

"Hey, rich boy," came a voice from behind him, full of what it presumably thought was an intimidating sneer. To Ethan, though, it sounded more like the speaker had a bad cold. "You should watch where you're walking. This isn't the sort of neighbourhood that your mummy and daddy would want to think of you walking through. Just a friendly warning, you know?"

Then there was a smooth metallic sound, like the blade of a knife being scraped against something. Something sharp poked Ethan in the small of the back. Had he been human, it might have drawn blood. Ouch! "Now that you've had the warning, here's the threat: if you ever want to see Mummy and Daddy again, then you'd better hand over everything you've got. And don't even think of running – a pampered little thing like you wouldn't get ten metres before I caught you, and, besides, there's a friend of mine waiting just a bit further down the road."

"Really?" asked Ethan, in an artificially high voice, still not turning around. "Just round the next corner?"

"Uh-huh. Now –"

"Thanks for the tip!" said Ethan, brightly, spinning around with a wide grin on his face. The man behind him only just had time to register the blood smeared across Ethan's chin, and to experience an acute moment of terror (as Ethan had intended), before Ethan sank his teeth into his neck.

A few moments later, Ethan gave a little sigh and turned back the way he had been going. He was about to put his hands in his pockets when a thought crossed his mind. He quickly ran his hands through the pockets of his attempted mugger, and transferred the spoils to his own. Quite a tidy sum, all told. Well, who said that evil doesn't profit… Was this actually _evil_, though? Vigilante justice, maybe, but _evil_? Hmm. That hadn't been what he'd intended to do at all. No, that didn't seem _nearly_ like enough fun!

Now, where was it that he'd said his friend was hiding?

* * *

"Rory…Rory… _Rory!_"

Blinking, Rory stared up, confused, into the sky. Erica promptly blocked his field of vision. He smiled happily as he saw her, but that was quickly replaced by a frown. "I had this awful dream," he said, sitting up. "You told me that Ethan had gone evil and killed Benny." He laughed. "How weird is that?"

Smiling, he fixed his gaze on Erica. "No laugh?" he ventured. He looked about him. "Hey, why am I here? And, come to think of it, since when do I go to sleep and dream…?" He looked back into her face, and caught the smeary trickles on her face. "What's wrong, Erica –"

He realised. "Oh." If he could have paled, he would probably have turned see-through at that moment.

He dully in front of him for a moment. "No. No. No no no no _no_." He lunged forwards, pounding his fists ineffectually on Erica's unresisting arms. "You're lying, Erica!" he cried. "Why are you lying to me?" Tears gushed out from him. "I won't let you make this up. Just stop it! Tell me it isn't true!"

"Rory – Rory – I'm sorry –" snivelled Erica, "but – but it _is_ true…"

"_No!_" wailed Rory, burying his head on her shoulder. "It can't be…" he moaned. "It can't be…"

Erica sat there, aware of the tears streaming down her own cheeks, as well as the wave of grief now soaking through her top. She didn't know what to do. How to comfort him. How to console him. How to console herself. Maybe it wasn't possible. This was so – so beyond _everything_ that they could have imagined. There was nothing that could make this better. So she just let him cry until he had nothing left to cry, while she did the same.

Eventually, Rory pulled away from her now sodden shoulder. His eyes were huge, and red, and blurry. So, she supposed, were her own. He didn't seem to see anything.

"The three amigos…" he murmured. "Now – now just the one amigo… But who am I an amigo_ to_ anymore, if all the rest are –" He seemed about to break into a fresh set of tears, but Erica caught him quickly by the hand, and squeezed it tightly.

"Come on, Rory," she said, strangely calm despite her grief. It had taken her so long to get to know, and even love, them, and now – "Let's go and say good-bye to Benny."

Rory hesitated, and then, swallowing an enormous sob, nodded. He squeezed her hand back, very faintly. "OK…" he whispered.

* * *

Well, the bench was empty now. That probably meant that they knew.

Ethan settled himself down onto the bench. His eye lit upon three spots of blood on the curve of one of the painted wooden slats. He would leave them. A memento. He should probably get out of town for a while. They'd be looking for him. And, besides, it was about time for a change of scenery. Seventeen years he'd been cooped up in this backwater. Time to spread his wings. Indulge in a little adventure.

He thought he'd finally cracked this evil thing. Biting that old lady after he'd helped her across the road had been a masterstroke. So trusting, so grateful. So dead. Not really worth it, though. Old people, it turned out, were pretty tough, and, when you got through to a vein, there wasn't that much blood there for you to have. But still, as a work of evil, it was passable.

Children. Maybe there was more mileage in children. Maybe that was something he should try, though one had to draw the line _somewhere_…

Besides, he felt that he'd drunk enough. He shifted, a little uncomfortable with his position on the bench. He was pretty full now. He put a hand under his jumper, still pristine and just as endearingly fluffy as it had been that morning, and rubbed his swollen stomach. Maybe a little _too_ full. Despite himself, he burped. Come to think of it, he felt a bit ill. Too much of a good thing. Indigestion, or something. Well, it was his first proper day as a vampire, and he had drained six people. His tolerance would probably increase. He winced. He hoped it would. He really, really liked the taste of blood.

Stretching, Ethan pondered his situation. If he was going to go away, then he was going to need a few things for the trip. He could nick stuff, of course, but he had no intention of being a common thief. It was little things like that which got you caught. And that was nowhere near evil enough for him. He had a lot of things to learn – pickpocketing was not one he intended to spend time on.

So then, home. Back to his room, grab a bag, some clothes, some money, and then get out of Whitechapel. He felt in his pockets. He had his key on him. Good. Save a lot of explanation.

Pushing himself up, he wandered purposefully away from the duck pond, not sparing a backward glance for the bench and all that had happened there.


	4. Requiem - Part 4

**We therefore commit his body to the ground**

The sun had tipped well passed its zenith and the day dropped towards evening. The grave waited still, though it had gained an artificial green surround and had just been marked with a shining white tombstone at its head, the name, short, picked out in black letters.

The solemn procession coming along the path indicated that the grave was about to fulfil its purpose. The coffin, borne lightly by some young mourners, shifted inexorably towards its resting place. The black clad crowd, smaller, perhaps, than the body deserved, gathered at the grave's edge. Words were said, but they were mostly whirled away in the stirring breeze. Something about earth. Something about ash. Something about dust. Something about something else, as well. Didn't quite catch it. Then the end.

Slowly, the wooden box was lowered into the ground. With a quiet creak, it settled at the bottom of the pit. There was a silence. The gathered party bowed their heads. An elderly woman, crying all the while, stumbled forwards and reverentially dropped something on top of the coffin. Turning away to be comforted by the three young people at her side, she dabbed at her eyes, and was led away.

The men with the spades began to fill in the grave, each shovel-full of earth landing on the wood with a distinctive thud. Over and over they tipped earth on to the coffin, until it had vanished entirely from the sight of the world.

* * *

Turning the key in the back door – best not to walk past Benny's front door – Ethan let himself into the house. He cocked his head, listening. Was there anyone else in? He scowled. He scowled and kicked the washing machine. He couldn't hear anything over the top of the noise it was making. He crept out of the utility room, and along the corridor towards the stairs.

The lounge door opened – Jane. She hadn't seen him yet, but –

"Ethan?" she said, a hand on the bottom of the bannister, looking over her shoulder. "Is that you?" She turned and saw him. Then she saw him properly, or thought she did, and saw the dried blood on face. She started towards him.

"Are you OK, Ethan –?"

Snarling, he started forwards, his eyes flashing and fangs bared. "Get out of my way."

With a shriek of fear, she almost flew out of the front door, letting it slam shut behind her. Ethan stood for a moment, and then started to laugh convulsively. He'd been trying to get Jane to do what he wanted for years. So this is what it took…

Smiling to himself, he rubbed a little of the blood from his chin (it started to itch after a while), retracted his fangs, and swung himself around the bottom post and up to his room.

* * *

You'd have thought that he'd been used to death by now. He was, after all, technically dead himself. Twice. But, of course, he'd never been dead like this before. Cold. Stiff. Still.

Rory tentatively put a hand on Benny's grey forehead. He didn't know why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. He traced his hand down the side of Benny's face, then under his chin, and then, after a hesitation, placed his fingers on the two gashes on his neck. He had to know –

– _Ethan's cheek grazed his chin – "Something wrong with your depth perception, Ethan? –" – There was still a smile on Benny's face as he felt Ethan bite into his neck – even as he tried to cry out, he felt his strength leave him – "E. – what – why? – Ethan…" –_

– Rory felt the tears run down his cheeks again. It was true. Not until this moment – not until he'd _checked_ – would he believe it. But now he wished he hadn't he wished he'd not seen that moment. When Ethan had – to Benny –

"He's really dead?" he asked, through unbidden sobs. "He's not, you know, a vampire?"

Sarah shook her head. "It's been hours. He should have turned by now. Besides, if even his grandma thinks he's gone, then he's gone." Sniffing, she brought a well-wrung tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. Taking another from a fresh packet, she offered it to Rory.

He took it, but instead of wiping his face, he spat into it and carefully cleaned the trails of blood from Benny's neck before wiping a few specks of dirt from his face. There. Clean as – well, cleaner then Benny had been in his life, probably…

He glanced quickly up at Sarah. "Could I have a minute?"

She nodded, her eyes downcast. "I'll be in the kitchen with Mrs Weir when you're done." As she left, she squeezed his arm in a little gesture of consolation. She was shaking, Rory noticed, and, sure enough, as soon as she was in the hall he heard her start to cry again.

He stood in silence beside the dead body of his friend. What did he do now? This was _Benny_. His oldest friend. Well, equal oldest, with –

Gone. Both of them. Yes, there was Erica, and there was Sarah, but they weren't the same. They didn't understand him the way Benny and Ethan had. And, he suspected, the two of them had had enough trouble understanding him at times. He'd never really had any other friends. He was always the weird one – the one that people generally ignored for a quiet life. Sometimes, he knew, Benny and Ethan had done that. But he _also_ knew that, whenever he came round, they would drop everything for him. They'd have done anything for him, and he'd have done the same for them.

Except – except he hadn't, had he? They'd brought him back from Hell, and he'd – he'd not been able to stop this happening. He hadn't seen any danger. He should have been with them – He should – He could –

His eyes brimming yet again with tears, Rory was seized by a sudden impulse, and he scooped up Benny's upper body in his arms, hugging him tightly. He pressed his head against Benny's, letting his tears run into Benny's hair. "Please come back…" he whispered. "Please."

Rory held on to Benny for a long time. Nothing. For once, just hoping and relying on luck wasn't getting them anywhere. For all the times they'd been lucky… Too lucky. And this was their punishment.

Rory laid Benny back out on the table. He gazed blankly down at him. Then, quite suddenly, he leaned forwards and kissed Benny on the forehead. "Goodbye, Benny," he murmured.

Taking one wavering, salt, tear-filled look at his late best friend, Rory turned and clumsily left the room.

* * *

Throwing open his cupboard door, Ethan scooped up a few things at random and dumped them into his rucksack. He rummaged through his drawers, clattering through photo frames, cards, pens, badges, and old school stuff to find the things he wanted. Pressing his clothes down, he looked around for any other items he might want to take.

A couple of books, a notebook, his wallet, phone – laptop? Too bulky. And then it would need a power cable, and he had no idea when he might get access to electricity again. The idea of a modern, twenty-first century approach to evil was appealing, but it just wasn't practical until he got himself sorted out somewhere. Anyway, there was dome good old-fashioned vampire stuff to do first… Now, anything else? Maybe some soap. Vampires, presumably, washed.

He went through to the bathroom and looked at the toiletries. They were going to take up a bit of space – not to mention what might happen if they leaked. Did vampires _actually_ need to wash? He knew that Sarah, Erica, and Rory _did_, but was that just out of habit? Certainly they never seemed to sweat – and they never seemed to in the movies either. He put his head to one side. Still, he'd better take some stuff just in case. Gathering a few things together in his arms, he wandered back through to his room.

"Ethan."

He jumped as he saw his parents standing in his room. His mum looked distraught. Not looking at him, she started to speak in a bunged-up voice:

"I don't know how to tell you this, Ethan, but – but –" She broke off and started to cry into her hands. His dad took over, putting a sympathetic hand on Ethan's shoulder.

"It's Benny. I'm afraid to say that, uh, well, he's dead."

Ethan looked up into his dad's eyes. They were really very caring, both of them. They'd had their disagreements, sure, and they had had some pretty serious ones lately, but they did love him. And he really didn't care.

"Yeah," he said, coldly. "Got any _interesting _news?"

They stared at him, shocked. "Ethan," started his mum, "I know we've been hard on you, but –"

"Oh, just shut up!" sneered Ethan.

"Ethan!" said his dad.

Ethan made a dismissive gesture. "Go away." As he said it, his eyes flashed gold for a moment. As if on strings, his parents suddenly straightened up and left the room, not even taking him in as they walked past, robot-like.

Ethan shrugged and took one last look around the room. Anything else? His eyes lit upon a photo, set in pride of place on top of the bookshelf. He may as well take something to remember what he looked like.

He popped it out of the frame, folded it, and then tore it neatly down the middle. He kept the half that depicted him, and let the other flutter down onto the carpet. Putting it in his jacket pocket, Ethan zipped up the rucksack and left the house. As he picked up his coat from the hall, he saw his parents' car driving away. He'd just have to walk, then.


	5. Requiem - Part 5

**In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection**

The grave, neatly filled, lay undisturbed in the quiet churchyard. The shock of dark brown earth stood out amongst the unkempt grass; the stark white stone a counterpoint to the crumbling, mossy ones around it. In time, this one would be like all the rest.

But not yet. For now, the grave, far from the madding crowd, was a place to stir, and to protect, the frail memories of he who lay there; his name, his dates – these were his only elegy. And, for a while, each time someone would pass this prominent gash upon the ground, they'd give the unhonoured life that lay within due reverence, and think upon it solemnly, knowing well that they stood in their own.

And then they'd go, forget, and re-join life.

* * *

"How is he?" asked a tearful Erica as Sarah came back through.

"Not good," said Sarah shaking her head. "In this, he's lost his two best friends. I can't imagine – I mean, _I_ feel this bad, and – and – he knew them for – for _years_ –"

Sobbing, she collapsed forwards onto Erica's shoulder.

"There, there," she whispered, cripplingly aware of how inadequate it was. "I know…"

Snivelling, Sarah sat down at the kitchen table. She looked across at Grandma Weir, who hadn't moved since their aborted attempt to revive Benny. Sarah held out her hands towards her. Whatever even Rory was going through would be nothing compared to what she must be feeling. Grandma Weir stirred a little, and clasped Sarah's hands tightly.

"You were good friends to Benny," she said, "_both_ of you."

Erica bit her lip and looked down at the floor. Grandma Weir smiled, very faintly, at her.

"It's alright, dear. You might not think so, but you _were_ his friend. Even when you pretended not to be."

"What do we do know?" asked Sarah.

"We wait for Rory," replied Evelyn, her voice very strange. "There's something I need to tell you." At this, her eyes filled with tears, and she bent her head, lapsing into silence again. The two girls waited. After a while, there was a click a short distance down the hall, a stifled sob, and then the grief-stricken shape of Rory shuffled into the room.

Mrs Weir looked up as he came in, and held out her arm. He ran to her, throwing himself around her. She held him tightly as they cried together, each trying to comfort the other. Gradually, they disengaged, and Rory took up a seat at her side.

Grandma Weir took a deep breath, and then, not looking at any of them, started to speak. "I think that I should tell you this now, because – because there will never be another time. B – Benny was – was – was _not_ my grandson."

The three of them looked at her, stunned. It had even managed to briefly change Rory's distraught face into an expression of surprise. "What –?" started Erica.

Mrs Weir weakly held up a hand. "Benny has – had – no parents. I created him, magically." She continued to stare at a single spot on the table as the others reacted to this. She continued, in the same flat voice: "A little over ten years ago, I was so very lonely. A witch's life is long, and solitary. I wanted someone to spend time with, to be part of my life, and, above all, to love. I didn't know why I'd never thought about it before, but there I was, alone, with no hope of anything else. So I set about working out how to create a baby." She looked slightly embarrassed, still while fixed on a knothole in the table. "It didn't quite happen as I expected. Due to a slight mistake, I ended up with a five year old. That's why there are no photos of Benny any younger than that. It was my only mistake in him, though. Everything else was simply perfect. I decided that he should be considered my grandson because of his sudden appearance, and my age, of course, but, really, Benny is my son."

Astonished, Sarah, Rory, and Erica stared, open-mouthed at Grandma – _Mrs_ – _Evelyn – _Weir. Benny's mum. And dad. Or…

Then they realised how that made it all so much worse.

The four of them were about relapse into tears when the kitchen door burst open. Sarah leapt up, expecting –

"_Jane_?" she said, staring at the terrified girl.

"It's Ethan," said Jane, clinging to Sarah. "He's – he's a vampire – and – and –" She lowered her voice. "I think he's _evil_," she whimpered. "You've got to _do _something!" She looked around at the four of them, looking so hopeful that they would have a solution. Something seemed wrong, though. A frown flickered across her forehead. "Hey – where's Benny?"

* * *

Where to go, where to go…

Ethan walked purposefully along the road, frowning. He had no idea what his next move was going to be. He knew that he was going to leave – but for where? He grimaced slightly. He should have taken a map with him. No matter. It couldn't be _that_ hard.

Maybe he would go to Toronto first. Big city, plenty of opportunity for fun. Yeah. That'd be nice. A city break. Break something, anyway… So, Toronto, then. Which was…

Er.

That way? Or was it _that_ way.

He hesitated, turning a little to the left and then a little to the right. Oops. He really should have taken Geography. He looked up and down the street, irritated with himself. He should have thought of this! Then he saw his opportunity.

In a battered white car, stuffed down the side of the passenger seat, was a road atlas. A grin spread itself across Ethan's face. Just what he needed. He glanced around. No-body about. Walking quickly, but calmly, round the car, he paused, and, in a swift movement, punched his hand through the window. As the alarm sounded, he grabbed the map and flashed away.

* * *

Sarah closed the living room door and looked over at Erica. "She's just sleeping normally now, after the shock, and the faint. I've put her on the sofa."

"That's why _you're_ the proper babysitter," remarked Erica, desperately trying to force a smile onto her lips. She failed, but Sarah understood.

"Yeah, I guess so." She sighed. "Poor Jane. He's her _brother_." She looked sadly up at Erica. "Is there anyone whose life this doesn't ruin?"

Slowly, Erica shook her head. Putting her arm around Sarah, she led her back to the kitchen. Mrs Weir and Rory hadn't moved. Were they staring at the same spot? Sarah and Erica sat down at the table.

"Jane's OK. Well, she will be. Probably."

Rory seemed to nod. "She had a point, though," he whispered. "What are we going to do?"

"About Ethan?" said Erica. "First we have to find him, and then –"

"Kill him," said Mrs Weir. It seemed to take her a lot of effort to say it.

"No!" cried Rory, looking straight up at her. "There must be a way to change him back."

"And then what?" said Mrs Weir. "Even if that's possible, he comes back – and what? We welcome him home? _He killed Benny_. My _son_."

"But that wasn't Ethan!" protested Rory. "It's the evil controlling him." Erica nodded vigorously.

"But maybe it is. Maybe this is the real Ethan, or at least some part of it. He's responsible for this," said Sarah.

"He might have lost his mind," argued Erica. "He's insane, not, not –"

"Doing this deliberately?" said Mrs Weir. "It seemed pretty well planned out to me."

"But – but even if it is, isn't it better to have him alive than dead?" said Rory. "Come one, guys, this isn't how we do things!"

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "It sort-of _is_, Rory. We find evil, and we destroy it. Simple."

"But not _Ethan_…" moaned Rory. "_Please_…"

"I think we're all jumping the gun a little here," said Erica, trying to be reasonable. "We all agree that we should catch him as soon as possible – before he kills any more people?"

"If he hasn't already," muttered Sarah.

The others nodded uneasily. "Yes…" said Rory. "So, um, _how_ might we do that?"

"Jane might be able to give us more information," suggested Erica.

"OK, then, we wait," said Sarah. "But only until she wakes up. Then…"

They nodded again, and then fell into silence again.

After a long time, Erica cleared her throat. "Do you, uh, remember that time that Benny –" She stopped.

"No, go on," said Mrs Weir.

"When he made that love potion, and, and –" Erica started to giggle.

"He became madly sought after by all the girls in the school?" supplied Sarah, smiling. "Yeah. And that time he dressed up as a girl trying to stop Stephanie –"

"And when he killed that giant spider, and got detention for it!" said Rory.

"What spider? What _detention_?" asked Mrs Weir. The other three bit their lips.

"Ah, he never said about that, then?" said Sarah. "Uh…"

"Was it like the time he thought I didn't know about when he created the parallel world that then collapsed on itself?" asked Mrs Weir, at last letting a smile appear on her face. "You know, you'd think that you would all be better at lying by now…"

"And Benny was really, _really_ bad at lying," sniggered Erica. "He couldn't even convincingly fake being in love with me. With _me_! And I'm fabulous. Aren't I, Rory"

"Absolutely," smiled Rory, interlacing his fingers with hers. "He was an idiot not to love you."

"Who are you calling an idiot?" came an aggrieved voice from behind them.

They turned. They gaped.

"Did I miss something?" asked Benny, leaning casually against the door frame, but with a confused expression on his face. He took in their blank expressions. "Hey, who _died_?" he quipped, smiling. When they didn't change, he looked worried. "Oh no, _who_ died…?"


	6. Requiem - Part 6

**Change our vile body**

Ethan stopped moving abruptly, and pitched forwards onto the ground. This vampire speed was much harder to control than it looked. It had been OK, while he was moving, but as soon as you stopped, it all caught up with you. It was like riding a bicycle. Only faster. And without a bell. _Now_ he realised why Rory was so clumsy. It was going to take practising, or it would just become embarrassing. Much like when he had learnt to ride a bike, as he recalled. If he could, he would have flushed at the memory. He really had been extraordinarily bad. He'd been what, _thirteen_, before he got rid of the stabilisers? So very, very embarrassing…

On the topic of embarrassment, he so hoped that no-one had just seen what had happened. He _really_ didn't want to have to drink any more blood. If he was honest, his little bout of indigestion from earlier was getting progressively worse. Maybe it was all the quick movements. Well, he'd drunk the blood; he was going to have to deal with the consequences…

He cast his mind around. No. There was no-one here. That was lucky. As was his landing on this really soft bit of ground. He pushed himself up into a crouch. He grimaced at the dirt on his hands and clothes. A little too soft and muddy, perhaps. And _when _was he meant to find a washing machine? Evil didn't stop for laundry! Well, Erica did, from time to time, but, frankly, he was starting to doubt whether she was even evil any more. Now that she was with Rory… He shivered. Such a loss.

Rubbing his hands together, he disdainfully wiped them on the top of the conveniently placed white stone. Ethan winced as he noticed how close he'd come to hitting his head on it. That could have killed him! Or, at least, been painful. How would all that work, anyway? Again, he'd never really watched closely with Sarah, Rory, and Erica. Did they heal instantly, or more quickly, or just not get hurt? He racked his brains, and, though he was sure there's been a time when he had known, right now he only drew a blank.

He stood up, shaking the earth from his clothes, sending little clods of dirt splatting across the lettering on the slab. He looked a little closer at it. Dan Short. 1938 – 2014. Father of three. Very fresh. Almost as if it had been done today. Not very interesting, Ethan thought, turning away and walking back to the path. It was lit by an old-fashioned lamp. He'd often wondered why things in graveyards were old-fashioned. Was it so the dead would get freaked out by modernity on Judgement Day? Presumably they would have more things on their mind, then… Then the rational side of his brain kicked in: why waste money on updating cemeteries? People always died; that didn't change no matter how time moved on.

Ethan looked around the church-yard. Well, this was one place he was unlikely to end up. Squinting at the church, from which a bell was sounding six o'clock, he tried to remember if he and the gang had ever come here on one of their monster hunts. He thought not. A thought struck him. If he was evil now, which he _was_, then he was one of those monsters now! He grinned. With all the experience he'd had in stopping them, he thought that he'd be pretty good at playing on the other team.

He opened up the map, which he still had under his arm. Excellent. This was useful. Turning in the right direction, he practised hovering a short distance off the ground. Up a little; down a little. Side to side. This flying thing was fun! He readied himself to go. No, hang on. Ethan turned the map the other way round, and, slightly embarrassed, rotated to face the other way. He wondered what would happen if he hit something at high speed. It had never bothered Rory, of course, but, well, Rory was _Rory_.

Only one way to find out!

"See you all another time," he muttered to himself, smiling into the darkening evening. Taking a breath, he flashed away, spurning the ground, flying out, over Whitechapel, and away through the dusk, leaving nothing behind except a mud-spattered tomb stone and some footprints on a freshly filled in grave.

* * *

Out from of the edges of the text steps the narrator. He wishes to apologise for this, as well as for making this story rather more postmodern than it has any right to be by doing so.

Observe Ethan. He is flying, rather quickly, towards Toronto. Around him bends lampposts, pylons, trees, small flocks of birds. He is not aware of this. Neither are they. But the narrator knows – as the reader now knows as well. But, unlike the reader, he knows everything – perhaps. He is everywhere. He both creates the text and is part of it. God-like, he can change it.

But despite all that, he remains just a web of words; he is himself created _by_ himself. He is the shadow of the text, made up of what lies behind the words – he is what is _not_ in the text. So don't get too many ideas about what he can and can't do. There are lots of things that are just up to chance.

The narrator is a strange little thing – certainly not human, though, perhaps he had parts which are human shaped. He's made of something papery; it might, indeed, _be_ paper. He looks thrown together, as if various different pieces had been edited to create a coherent entity. And his temperament? Bookish, naturally.

His arm (or maybe just a lot of words that _look_ like an arm – and what really does make up an arm?) extends and dives into the pocket of a pair of trousers (or maybe just a lot of words that look like a pair of trousers – at least the _pocket_ of a pair of trousers) and pulls out a coin (or maybe just – you get the picture…). This is a very special coin. It is of great importance both to this and any other story. It is unique. It is the only coin he happens to have.

You might, therefore, expect his coin to look different. Shiny. One asking to be held, examined, caught in the light, spun, flicked, and flipped. It is not. It is rather unremarkable in many ways. An ordinary copper coin. Fairly grubby, in fact. A coin that has had a long life and has passed through many unwashed hands. It sits dully in his palm (or maybe…). Is that the head? It is so worn that it is rather hard to tell. It is no-one that you might recognise.

He moves the coin deftly from his hand to the top of his thumb. It waits, in between states. It still shows a head, but what it shows now is irrelevant. In this position, the coin has neither head nor tail. It is, for want of a better description, blank. Perhaps this coin, at this time, on this person, really is blank. It would not be beyond the imagination.

Look again at Ethan, screaming through the night. If he went a little faster, he might catch up with the setting sun. But he will not outrun it and extend the night forever. He does not want to; besides, he does not know he can. You can tell what is about to happen. The narrator is going to flip a coin for Ethan, and see which way he will go. This is the limit of his power; here is where chance takes over – or does it?

This coin was flipped for Benny. The narrator regrets that you will have to imagine it, for it happened outside of the text that you are permitted to see. There is, of course, more to any story than you see. There is secret text, not written down. This is something that was in those non-existent words that govern those that lie within your sight. The coin flew up into the air, and landed, Benny's face face up. The narrator's choice there was between alive and dead – or was it? Could it be that the coin that the narrator gets is determined by some other force? What use is chance if, on the other side, there sits Benny's face as well? Or maybe it all was already true, and Benny lived by freak of chance. We'll never know.

Now back to Ethan. What is he now? A hero? An anti-hero? Redeemable, or not? Villain, or not? Loved, or not? Or more complex things than that? What is it that the narrator's flipping for? A coin can only say one thing at a time – Ethan is harder to define than that.

And we go. See the coin fly up, up, into space. It wobbles in the darkness. If you were to look better than you can see, then you would find a head and a tail. This coin is fair. This is a choice. The coin spins, but no cheerful shine reflects the light – if there is light in the text where the narrator lives. Without that flashing light, the coin moves in silence. We watch, transfixed. Will it ever fall? But it drops, just as soon as we think it never will, and, tumbling through the blackness, it crashes down with fatal _plink!_ upon the insubstantial table. It spins again.

With the coin still spinning, the narrator fades back into the text. It will come to rest at some other point. But not yet.

What will it say?

* * *

**(That might not make sense now, but it could do later.)**


	7. Episode 2 - Driftwood

**Episode Two, carrying straight on from Episode One. Reviews, as always, keenly sought.**

* * *

**Driftwood**

* * *

**Yes! in the sea of life enisled**

"You know, he always was a late riser," said Rory.

"You've been working on that, haven't you?" snorted Erica. "This whole time since he turned up you've been hard at it desperately trying to think of some kind of pun."

Rory hung his head, shamefacedly. "Yeah, sort of…" He glanced up again, a smile tugging at his lips. "It wasn't bad, though, was it?"

Erica rolled her eyes and looked back towards the closed door, leaving Rory to beam contentedly to himself. Ever since Benny had showed up, not dead, Rory had hardly been able to contain his happiness. He didn't seem to want to dwell on all the things that were still wrong with the situation.

"How long do you think they'll be –?" asked Erica, before the door swung open and a rather flustered Mrs Weir came back into the room, followed by Sarah, who had a curious mixture of relief and worry on her face. Which made for a really very odd expression.

Rory looked up. "How is he?" he asked, anxious (though still not able to completely lose his smile).

"Physically? Fine," said Mrs Weir. "He's just fainted. He'll be conscious again soon. As for everything else that happened, well, I don't know…" She squeezed Sarah's hand. "You're getting quite good at catching people today."

"It's the babysitter part of me. You can't get rid of it…" said Sarah, absently, frowning slightly as she took her seat at the table.

"So what now?" asked Erica.

"Well, everything's OK again, surely?" said Rory. "We find Ethan, make him better, and carry on like this never happened. But with Benny as a vampire. Hey, now we're _all_ vampires – this will be awesome!"

The other three all looked a bit dubious on this, but it was Sarah who first spoke up:

"I'm not sure that this really changes anything. So, he hasn't killed Benny, but he might have killed _other_ people. Don't the matter?"

"Well, yeah," said Erica, "but this is still _Ethan_ that we're talking about. Something really odd has happened to him, and I don't think we should hold him responsible for what he's doing. He's gone insane, but that's not the fault of the Ethan we know. Besides, he might not have killed anyone else. He could be out there right now, beside himself with guilt."

"But if he _has_," said Sarah, "what makes him any different from any other monster we've fought?"

"Because he's _not_ a monster!" wailed Rory. "He's _Ethan_. He's _our friend_."

"Is he?" argued Sarah. "Or is he just evil? And even if we were to turn him back, would that make up for any bad things he did when he was evil?"

"I'm not even sure if we _can_ turn him back," said Mrs Weir. "I don't know what might have gone wrong with him, and if it is genuinely part of who he is."

"But it can't be!" protested Rory.

"Why?" asked Erica.

"Because – because –" Here Rory seemed to be on the verge of tears. "I don't know – because –"

"Because he's Ethan," said Benny, in a hoarse voice, dragging himself into the room and dropping heavily into an empty chair. It had only been about twenty minutes since they'd last seen him, but he suddenly seemed gaunt and ill, as if his life had just been drained out of him. His eyes were dead; his mouth was small and tight. He spread his hands over the table. "It's Ethan. I know Sarah, that, objectively, there _is_ no difference. Had that old guy been the one that bit me, I wouldn't have wasted any time worrying over whether he had a moral core; but this is Ethan. It's just different."

Sarah nodded, snivelling. "I know – I just – just can't – cope with it – being – being Ethan – I don't know _why_ it's different. I don't understand. I don't know _why_ this has had to happen…"

Erica squeezed her in a hug. "Come on, Sarah, it's all bad, but we've just got to hold up. We'll find a way out."

Benny looked along the table at his grandma. "Could it be reversed?" he asked, dully.

She tipped her head from side to side. "I have no idea. I'd need to look into it, but I can't think of any way of turning him good again."

"If you could do that," said Rory, "then surely you could make sure that there would be far less evil around?"

Mrs Weir shook her head. "Even if it were possible – to _make_ people be good by magic would _not_ be a good idea."

"But you'll try for Ethan?" said Benny.

She hesitated, and then nodded. "If that's what you want me to do, Benny, then I will try to do it. But I can't tell you that it will be possible."

He glanced up at her, nodded his acceptance, and then looked around at the others. "How are we going to find him, then?"

"When Jane wakes up –" started Sarah.

"She won't know where he is!" cut across Erica. "He's long gone."

"Yeah," said Rory, "but she might be able to tell us what he was doing. That might help us know what he might do afterwards." He looked over at Benny. "Is there anywhere that you can think of that he might have gone?"

Benny shook his head. "I imagine he'll have left Whitechapel by now. If he's – well, if he's done anything else, then – we should find that out, too."

"Yeah," said Sarah. "I'll check the TV."

"We should also listen to the local radio," suggested Mrs Weir.

"I'll just get my laptop," said Rory.

"I might be able to get something on my phone," said Erica.

They all sat in nervous silence, none of them making any move to act on their suggestions.

"Er, guys," said Rory, "is it just me, or do any of you not really want to know either?"

They all shook their heads, and resumed the silence. Then, with a sudden determined move, Erica leaned over and switched on the radio.

"_- And the big story of today in Whitechapel is the news that a cat has given birth to eleven kittens. Yes, you heard right, _eleven_! –_"

The five of them breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, at least nothing bad has happened," said Sarah, smiling a little. "Now we can find Ethan with –"

"_I'm sorry_," burst the crackling voice over the radio, "_but I've just received some breaking news. Now, there's no need to panic, folks, but –" _The five of them stared at each other, desperately hoping that it was just another non-story_ "- the police are warning people to stay in their homes as there seems to be – a murderer in Whitechapel. Police confirm that there have been four – no, five bodies found so far, but no details yet on if there's a pattern, or even any idea on the murder weapon. Stay with us for more news –_"

"Look," said Erica, hurriedly, "it might not be him. I mean, this could just be your ordinary killer, right? It might even be a coincidence."

"Or," suggested Rory, wild hope in his eyes, "it _could_ just be one of our regular Whitechapel monsters. Especially if it turns out they were killed in an obviously non-vampirey way –"

"_I have to tell you, listeners," _said the radio,_ "but there is some very unnerving stuff coming in from the police. Apparently all of these bodies are completely drained of blood. The police aren't saying anything about how that has happened, or where it has gone, but I'm sure we'll know soon –"_

There was soft thud as Benny's head hit the table, followed by a low cry.

"Ethan…" groaned Rory, putting his head in his hands.

"We don't know!" said Sarah, forcefully. "It could be any vampire –"

"_- The police are currently looking, and I find this hard to believe, for a teenage boy who it seems was seen near all of the crime scenes. Could it really be a teenager? What does that say about our society? Ring in on –"_

The radio exploded, sending shards of plastic scattering across the kitchen. Benny looked up, biting his lip guiltily. He unclenched his hand, deep red marks where his fingernails had dug into his palms. "Sorry," he muttered, his eyes watering.

The others barely noticed, staring blankly into space. Rory opened his mouth as if to speak a few times, but with each attempt, his face crumpled and no words came out. It was Mrs Weir who finally spoke:

"Look, we've got to be practical here. We deal with whatever Ethan's done when we find him. Until then, our priority is to look for him and stop him doing any more damage."

They all nodded. Sarah leaned forwards, her voice a little unsteady. "We need to get to these crime scenes – see if there are any clues, and we also need to go to his house. We'd better split up."

Erica nodded. "What about Jane?" she asked.

"What about me?" said Jane, pushing open the kitchen door and looking confusedly up at them all. "Why am I here? What's happened?"

Mrs Weir got up from her seat and put her hand gently on Jane's shoulder. She smiled at her kindly. "Let's go back through here," she said leading her towards the living room. "I need to talk to you."

Rory glanced round the table and stood up. "We'd better get going. I'll check out these crime scenes."

"I'll go with you," said Erica, quickly standing at his side.

Sarah's gaze flickered nervously towards Benny. "I'll go and check his room –"

"Not without me," insisted Benny, the crack in his voice showing the lie of his calm and determined appearance.

Sarah nodded. "OK. Let's go."


	8. Driftwood - Part 2

**We mortal millions live **_**alone**_

Benny tapped at the front door. It swung open on its hinges. Odd.

"Mr and Mrs Morgan?" he called out, frowning at Sarah in consternation.

"Hello?" cried Sarah, stepping into the hallway. "Is anyone at home?"

Suddenly frightened for them, Benny shot a worried glance at Sarah. She clearly shared his concern for them, and, drawing together, they approached the closed kitchen door. From beyond it, they could both pick up a slow, ominous drip.

Benny, holding his breath (out of habit), pushed the door open, praying that he wouldn't see –

They both sighed with relief when they saw that it was just a running tap. Sarah stepped over to it and turned it off. She looked around. "Where are they?"

Benny pointed to the little dish on the counter. "No car keys. Maybe they've gone out."

"Leaving the door open? Leaving _Jane_?"

Benny shrugged. "Let's check all the rooms. You take the garage. I'll check the downstairs."

Sarah flashed away. Benny cautiously made his way into the lounge, then Ethan's dad's study, and then the utility room. The back door was open, too. In the lock, there was still a key. It had a key-ring on it. Taking the key out of the lock to look at it, Benny recognised it straight away. He ran his fingers over it. It was the rubber Batman key-ring that he'd given Ethan years ago. He couldn't remember where he'd got it – out of a cereal packet, probably – but he remembered how Ethan – how Ethan had liked it. And kept it all this time. A tear ran down his cheek.

Something rested lightly on his shoulder. Startled he span around, wiping his eye. Sarah looked at him, anxious. "Are you OK, Benny?"

He nodded. "Ethan's keys." He held them up. "Front door, back door –" He hesitated, holding the third key between finger and thumb. "– and mine…" he finished, his voice dropping. He looked up at her. "Find anything?"

She shook her head. "The car's gone. I'm pretty sure they've driven off, but I'm not sure that they did it of their own free will."

Benny frowned. "But how? I mean, you and Erica can't do the hypnotising thing, and you've been trying for months –"

"Ethan's already got psychic powers," pointed out Sarah. "It probably wasn't a big step. If anything, it's probably more powerful because he's done it than it normally would be."

Benny winced. A psychic and a vampire. Ethan had double powers. The only thing worse than that would be – he almost smiled – a vampire with _magical_ powers. Nodding as he processed this new information, he gestured to her. "Upstairs?" he said.

He followed her along the corridor and then up the stairs. How many times had he gone up here? He'd worn a groove in the carpet, no doubt. There were twenty-one steps to the first floor. If you were quick, you could get from the front door to Ethan's room in fewer than ten seconds. Today, though, Benny dawdled. Everything was done to put off the moment of actually going in. He insisted on checking all the other rooms: under the beds, behind the curtains, even in the bath.

Eventually, though, it was inevitable, and the pair of them stood outside Ethan's door. Benny looked down at the carpet. There was that one patch that still hadn't gone back to its old colour. Sarah put her hand on his arm.

"Are you sure that you want to do this, Benny?" she asked.

Swallowing, Benny shook his head. "I don't _want_ to," he said, "but I _have_ to."

Nodding kindly, Sarah twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

Inside, it was a mess – worse than usual – worse than _Benny's_. It looked as if it had been ransacked. Drawers and cupboards were open, with clothes hanging half out of them. Ethan desk was covered in papers, and pictures and ornaments lay scattered about the room. Only the bed, miraculously, remained pristine. Benny took one look around, and then collapsed onto it, sobbing. Sarah sat down hurriedly next to him, trying to think of how to comfort him. She settled for sitting next to him in receptive silence, and waited for him to speak.

"Sarah –" he started, staring at something on the carpet. "I – I –" His voice gave up.

Sarah looked across at him and squeezed his hand. "I know, Benny. He was your friend."

Benny gave a little moan, and turned slightly away.

"Your best friend," said Sarah, trying to correct herself. "It must be hard –"

"It's not just that!" said Benny, turning back round again, tears in his eyes. "He wasn't just my best friend!"

Sarah looked sadly at him and put her arm around his shoulders. "I know, you knew him your whole life –"

"That wasn't what I meant, Sarah," said Benny, in a cracked voice. "He was – I'm – We were –" Seeing that this was only making Sarah more confused, he screwed up his courage, and told her plainly: "I loved him, Sarah. He loved me."

Shocked, Sarah just gawped at Benny, whose face was now dripping with tears. She was horrified to see that, mixed in with his grief and shock, there was fear in his expression. Had he been afraid of telling her?

She drew him into a hug, and found that she was crying, too. "Oh, Benny…" she murmured, his head on her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We were going to…" said Benny softly, "but – but we never felt that the time was right – and, well, if I'm honest, I was scared of how everyone was going to react. Then, eventually, we decided to tell you at Ethan's birthday party, and then – and then –"

Sarah nodded, and squeezed his shoulder. She had to admit, it made sense. It was certainly nothing that she had expected – but it felt right. It wasn't how she thought she'd react to it: she'd thought that it would feel odd to think about it, but, Ethan and Benny? That felt as natural as any other couple. Except maybe Rory and Erica. _That_ was just weird.

His crying got louder, and she pressed him into her shoulder, hugging him tightly. "You shouldn't have been, Benny, you shouldn't have been…" She thought. Was this the right time? "Are you going to tell everyone else?"

He hesitated, and then nodded. "May as well," he sighed. "I've got nothing left to lose."

"I'm sure everyone will be just fine with it, Benny. There's nothing that would make any of us not want to be your friends."

Benny pulled away. "Nothing?" he asked, dully.

Sarah hesitated as she looked around the room. "Ah, well –"

"I still love him, you know," said Benny. "Not just the memory of how he was, but _this_ Ethan. _The_ Ethan. Even after everything, he's still Ethan. My Ethan. That's not to say that I don't hate him for it all, but, still –"

He buried his head in his hands. Sarah was about to say something to him, when his head shot up again, and he looked at her with blood-shot eyes.

"And the worst thing is that it was an unnecessary secret this whole time! Nobody knew. So, now it's over, and it's like it never happened. We loved each other, and now everything's gone! It feels like we never loved each other – but – but – but at the same time, _I_ know that we did. And I _do_. And that feels like – like – _I don't know!_" He bent forwards and buried his head in his knees, folding his arms over his head protectively. He continued speaking in a muffled voice. "I can't describe – he was _everything_ to me, Sarah, and now – nothing. _Worse_ than nothing. It makes me sick just to think about him – and what he's done – and what he might do – and what won't happen anymore. We were going to love each other until we died. Well," he said, bitterness edging into his voice, "we're well and truly dead now…"

Sarah gingerly leaned forward to try and pry his arms apart, but as she did so, he sprang up and clung desperately to her.

"And yet I _still_ love him!" he wailed. Crying again, he hunched up on the bed, his head in Sarah's lap. "What do I do now, Sarah? What happens now? How does this get better?"

Sarah froze for a moment, uncertain of how to react. Then the babysitter kicked in, and, as she had done with dozens of upset children, she automatically started to stroke his hair. "I don't know, Benny," she said. "I just don't know…"

The two of them sat there silently, in the ruin of Ethan's room – and Benny's life – and let themselves cry. Time passed, though not nearly enough to make anything any better.


	9. Driftwood - Part 3

**Oh! then a longing like despair**

"Rory…"

"What?"

"I don't like it here," said Erica, looking about her nervously. She picked over a ripped open bin liner, wrinkling her nose. Rory leaned against a burnt out car and raised an eyebrow.

"What are you worried about? We're perfectly –"

The worn, rusted, charred (it was pretty hard to tell _which_ was the cause) strut gave way, and Rory was pitched into the wreck of the vehicle. With a sigh, Erica helped him out, grimacing as ory sprayed ash everywhere. He wiped his hands on his jeans absently, and looked up and down the street. "What was I saying?"

"Why we're perfectly safe here," replied Erica.

"Oh, yeah." Rory bit his lip. "Well, we are. We're vampires!"

Erica glared at him. "Shh! Really, sometimes I don't think you get this whole secrecy thing…"

Rory shrugged. "There's no-one here – anyway, we need to _focus_. It doesn't matter how dangerous it is, if it helps get Ethan back, then it's worth it."

Erica nodded, but still looked warily around her. "I guess so. Now, what is it we're looking for?"

Rory took a notebook out of his pocket. "According to that radio signal that I intercepted" (He, Benny, and Ethan had made it a while ago, just in case. Well, just for fun, really…) "there were two murders just along here, within about twenty metres of each other. No details, just that they were found bloodless, but with no obvious wounds. Robbed, too, by the sound of it."

Erica frowned. "You don't think Ethan –"

"Stole from them. I think after he'd _killed_ them, there's not a lot more he could do to shock us." Rory face fell. "Still, it is a bit un-Ethan-like." He looked around. "Although, round here, it could be that someone else stole their stuff after Ethan had gone."

"Mmm." Erica frowned. "You know, even _I_ wouldn't have done that. Well, maybe if they'd had nice stuff…"

"Erica!" burst out Rory. "This isn't a joke!"

Erica looked away. "Sorry… Old habits." She scanned the street. "So, where was it, exactly?"

"By that tape, I'd imagine," said Rory nodding to where the yellow tape fluttered forlornly in the light breeze. It had already been ripped through, and was now in two pieces. There was nobody around now. Clearly this wasn't important enough to warrant securing the scene. Or maybe it was already dealt with. Rory didn't know. He only knew about the police from the TV, and he doubted that that was very realistic. "Come on," he muttered, crossing over the road.

"Look, they really do chalk around the outlines," said Erica, slightly detached. "Why do they do that?"

Rory shrugged. "I don't know. But it might help us. Look. This one had his arms by his head, like he fell forwards. Maybe he was surprised from behind."

Erica nodded, and squinted in the gutter. "Hey…" She leaned down. "This looks familiar," she said, picking up a blue and orange button.

Rory swallowed, and nodded. "Yeah. Ethan had a shirt with buttons like that."

"Oh. Proof?"

Rory tipped his head from side to side. "_Evidence_. Shall we check the other site?"

Erica nodded. "I can see it. It's not far. Keep looking for stuff on the way."

"Hmm…" said Rory, stopping and looking at some mud on the ground.

"What is it?" asked Erica.

"Do you remember when we looked for Ethan the last time? Benny's – grandma – did those spells to try and pick out his footprints?"

Erica shook her head. "No. I wasn't there. And – hey! – neither were _you_."

"She showed me afterwards." He looked a bit sheepish. "I just thought it sounded cool."

Erica nodded. "Fine… But _we_ can't do that."

Rory shook his head. "No, but I did get a pretty good look at Ethan's shoeprints when she showed me. And this seems to be one of them." He pointed.

Erica squinted at it. It was definitely patterned like a shoe. But… "How can you be sure that it's his? There must be lots of shoes like that. And he might not even have been wearing them."

"Still," said Rory, subdued, "it's evidence. And, if it was him, then he was going _to_ the place where we've just come from."

Erica nodded. "So we're doing his route in reverse?"

Rory nodded. "Which might not be so helpful. Well, let's check out the other crime scene, and then retrace our – and his – steps."

Rory then ducked under the tape, holding it up for Erica. The pair of them looked at the outline on the ground. "Crumpled up?" suggested Erica.

Rory nodded. "Yep…" He stared around intently. "Nothing. Nothing to show where Ethan went, or what he did." He sighed and threw his hands up in the air. "Why did we even bother coming here, Erica? We knew we wouldn't find anything. We're lost. Ethan could be anywhere."

Erica put her arm around him. "It's OK –"

"It's not!" shouted Rory, spinning away. "It's not, it's not, it's _not_!"

"Rory –"

"All we've established is that – is that my best friend is a murderer!" We waved his hand violently at the chalk outlines. "That's what this shows. That everything I've ever thought about Ethan – all the years I've known him – all of it – _this_ is what it comes to. Nothing! And we come here to see _what he's done_ – what has he_ done_, Erica? – but it brings us no further forwards. It just makes us think less of Ethan. It makes me think – makes me think that I don't _want _to find him, if this is what he is."

With an angry movement, Rory broke through the tape and sat down on a low garden wall, his eyes red and downcast. Erica sat down next to him. "Rory – look, Rory, I know that this is bad, but – but – but we've got to do it."

"Why?" spat Rory, looking straight at her, his face crumpled.

"Because – because no one else will, Rory. We've got to find him, or he'll just get more dangerous. For other people and for himself. We're the only ones who might be able to help him."

Rory blinked, and looked away. "I guess you're right…" He wiped his eyes. "But – but I just don't see how this helps us…"

Erica frowned, and hunted in her bag. "I don't know if it does, but maybe there's a pattern." She pulled out a map of Whitechapel and a pencil. She held it out in front of her, while Rory looked on confused.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Seeing if there's a pattern," repeated Erica. "Now," she said, marking he park with a cross, "_that's_ where we found Benny. Then there are these two –" She made two more crosses. "- and then that kid from school."

"Hannah…" said Rory, his voice choked.

Erica frowned at him. "You knew her?"

He nodded. "Yeah… She was nice, if slightly boring. She had a crush on Ethan. And – and he killed her." He shook his head, and started to cry again. "I just can't believe it's him!" he sobbed.

Erica patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Yeah, I know… And then there was some other kid. This hockey player?"

Rory shrugged. "We didn't really mix much with them," he said. "It could be any of them. Some of them used to take our lunch money, when they were feeling particularly clichéd." Involuntarily, his lip started to twitch up at the side. "I hope –" He suddenly frowned and looked ashamed of himself. "I mean –"

"Yeah, well, that was another one _here_," she said, making a fifth cross. "Was that it?" she asked.

"No," said Rory. "There was that old woman. Here." He pointed, and Erica marked beneath his finger.

"Does that make any kind of pattern?" she asked, holding the map out. They both looked at it quizzically.

"I think –" started Rory, frowning.

"Yes?" supplied Erica, hopeful.

"Maybe – if we know he started with Benny," said Rory, resting his finger on the duck pond, "and then went to Hannah, the other kid _there_, these two, and then the old lady…" He paused racing his finger around the six points. He looked over at Erica. "… Then it leads round in a circle."

"From the park, and –?"

"Back to the park," Rory finished for her. He nodded. "Uh-huh."

"So… What now?" said Erica.

"We should follow him," said Rory. "We go back to the park. See if there's anything there. Some clues. Maybe –" (here he looked hopeful) "- maybe he's sitting there, overwhelmed with remorse."

"Or not."

"Or not…" conceded Rory. "But we ought to –"

"Hey! You two!"

Startled, they looked behind them, Erica dropping the map. A large man was glowering at them from his front door. Rory opened his mouth to speak, but –

"Get off my property!" the man growled.

Erica nudged Rory. "Come on," she muttered. Grabbing the map off the floor, she sprang up, and started to back away. He probably wasn't dangerous, but they didn't want to make a scene. "Sorry!" she called out. "We were just –"

"Going!" said Rory, scurrying after her, all the while waving cheerfully. "Bye!"


	10. Driftwood - Part 4

**A God, a God their severance ruled!**

Eventually, Benny ran out of tears. For a while he lay, dry-eyed, resting his head in Sarah's lap, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing. Then he spoke, his voice distorted:

"He loved you, Sarah. He really did. Did you know that?"

Sarah blinked. "But he – you've just said –"

Benny smiled wryly. "Oh, he definitely loved me _more_, yes – but – when it seemed like he was in love with you? That was real."

"And – and you and Erica," stammered Sarah, trying to make sense of the new rush of information. "Did you –"

"No," breathed Benny. "Never. I just played along. To make it seem normal, you know. But I knew that I loved Ethan, and only Ethan. No-one else. Ever."

Sarah ran her fingers through his hair over and over, staring into the middle distance. "Oh."

There was a long pause before Benny spoke again.

"Sarah?"

"Yeah…?"

"You can stop that now – my hair isn't going to get much straighter!" He twisted his head slightly so that he could look up at her. He smiled weakly.

"Sorry!" said Sarah springing her hands away. She bit her lip. "I wasn't thinking."

Benny sat up, his hair flopping down like a curtain across his eyes. He let out a little puff of breath to blow it aside, but it just fell back over his face again. They were both silent for a moment, before collapsing into laughter.

"Thanks, Sarah!" said Benny, chortling.

"I'm sorry, alright!" she laughed. "I really am – sorry…" She sighed as she watched him push his hair back with his hands. His mouth twitched into a smile.

"No-one will recognise me like this, Sarah. They'll think I'm just some kid you've picked up."

Sarah snorted. "Like it's your _hair_ that people recognise you from." Then her smile faded. "Benny –"

He held up a hand. "I'll be OK. You don't need to worry about me. I think I've just about cried enough now for a whole lifetime, so don't expect much more emotion from me. Please, let's just try and go back to how we were. Like everything's normal." He gritted his teeth. "Because everything _will_ be normal. We'll find Ethan, and make everything better. Like none of this ever happened. Deal?"

Sarah hesitated. She nodded reluctantly, and looked into his face. "Are you sure –?"

"Sarah!" said Benny, raising a finger.

She looked away. "Yes, yes. I'll say nothing more about it. You're fine. OK. Yeah…" They sat, once more, in silence. "Are you – are you going to tell the others?" asked Sarah, half-expecting Benny to bite her head off again.

Benny nodded. "Yeah, I guess so…" He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. "When we go back." He looked thoughtful. "Although Erica already knows."

Sarah's head snapped round. "_What_? Since when?"

"Just over a year," said Benn, absently. "She came across us at Ethan last, er, birthday party. You know, the one with –"

"The collapsing dimension. Yeah, I remember." She caught his guilty look and held up her hands. "Hey, at the time, I thought it was a cool thing to do too."

"Well, uh, Ethan was trying to wake me with a kiss –"

"Like in the fairy stories – not that we haven't done that –?" asked Sarah, raising her eyebrows.

"Mmm. Yeah. Well, anyway, Erica turned out to be right behind us. It was sort-of unavoidable that she wouldn't know after that."

"She's know all that time, and not told anyone?" said Sarah, impressed.

"She dropped some pretty big hints early on," said Benny, staring at the carpet again, "but then I suppose she got caught up with keeping her relationship with Rory secret so, you know, she got distracted."

"Anyone else know?" asked Sarah.

"No," replied Benny. He corrected himself. "Ah – actually, the phœnix knew, because he knew about our thoughts. Apart from that, no, I don't think anyone knew."

"Are you sure?" asked Sarah, raising an eyebrow. "You keep making this list longer…"

"Well it's hard to keep track of – we were so intent on keeping it secret – I – he – we –"

Benny broke off and closed his eyes. He took a deep (and unnecessary) breath, and then opened his eyes again. "Anyway. That was then. This is now. And –" He sighed, his hand twitching involuntarily.

"And…?" prompted Sarah.

"Everything's different now," Benny said in a small voice. He corrected himself. "For now."

He jerked his head up. "Well, that isn't helping us find Ethan," he said, abruptly. "We need to keep looking for clues."

"What's he taken?" asked Sarah. "You know this place better than I do."

Benny stood up and glanced around. He gestured at the drawers and wardrobe. "Clothes, obviously." He peered inside. "All kinds. Just at random. Looks like he intends to be away for a while."

Sarah peered over his shoulder. "Anything special?"

Benny shook his head. "He didn't – _doesn't_ – really have particular favourite clothes. I think, as you'll remember, he had quite a lot." He looked over his shoulder at her, raising an eyebrow. Sarah smiled faintly.

"Now you mention it, yeah, he _was_ a bit of a clothes horse, as I remember." She prodded Benny on the shoulder. "Unlike _you_, Benny. You know what day of the week it is by what you wear."

"I don't know what you mean!" said Benny.

Sarah smirked, and cast an eye over his outfit. "Blue and orange stripes, and light blue jeans. Must be Saturday."

Benny frowned. He narrowed his eyes. "T-shirt colour?"

Sarah thought. "Dark green."

He checked down the front of his top. He bit his lip. "Fine… Ethan, though, has more clothes than he knows what to do with. Hardly ever wears something more than twice a month. Except…"

Frowning, Benny went over to a drawer and rummaged around in it. Crestfallen, he pulled out a pair of pink and yellow socks. "Except these…" he murmured.

"Benny?" said Sarah, concerned.

He dropped them back into the drawer. "Nothing," he said. "It's not important." Drawing himself together again, he looked around the room again. "Now, he's left his laptop – _that's_ a bit weird for Ethan – but he _has_ taken his phone." He searched Ethan's desk. "And the charger."

"Well, that's something," said Sarah. "We might be able to contact him. Or you and Rory can hack into the network and find his location."

Benny raised an eyebrow. "You've been watching too many movies, Sarah."

She stuck her tongue out. "Only with you – two –" Her face fell as she said it, and to cover, she studied the bookshelves. She pointed at the gaps. "Anything useful gone missing?"

Benny looked at it. "Not that I can think of. He keeps his books in subjects, and then orders them by the author's name. The only gaps are from his fiction section. Look. His maps and phrase books are still here."

"Phrase books?" asked Sarah.

"Remember when he split – _I _split _him _- in two and tried to speak French? After that, he convinced himself that he was a natural linguist. Went out and tried to learn half a dozen different languages." Benny smiled nostalgically. "Useless at all of them." He brought himself back to the present. "Wherever Ethan's going, he'll be speaking English."

"So not far, then? If no maps?"

Benny shrugged. "Could be anywhere from here to Mexico. And just because he didn't take a map from here doesn't mean that he can't get one somewhere else. In all honesty, Sarah, I can't see how this helps us work out where he is at all."

Sarah nodded reluctantly. "Yeah… Anywhere that you can think of that he might want to go?"

Benny thought. "He always talked about Toronto. He was desperate to go to university there, ever since you and Erica left. Well, to be honest, he's always talked about going there. Then again, he might want to go somewhere completely different. Somewhere where he can be isolated. Lots of space. He likes big empty spaces. Relaxes him, you know?"

"I can't say that I've ever noticed," said Sarah.

Benny shrugged. "No reason why you would." A distant look dropped onto his face. "I remember this time, in the last year of elementary school, when we were going on a school trip. We were on the bus for _hours_ – at least, it seemed like that – and Ethan was going completely stir crazy, almost jumping out of his seat, until, just in time, I reckon, we got to wherever it was we were going. Some national park or something. Middle of nowhere. Well, we'd only just pulled up, when he ripped off his seat-belt, jumped right over me, and sprinted down the aisle and out of the bus. I thought he was desperate for the loo, something like that, but, when I got off the bus right after him, he was just lying on his back on the ground, staring up at the sky. Then, I lay down as well. After that, everyone did it, I think. Even the teachers. Even the _bus driver_." Benny laughed wistfully. "I can still see the sky. How _big_ it was. How blue." He broke from his reverie. "He likes that." He shook his head. "But it doesn't help us. He could be anywhere."

Sarah nodded. "All we know is that he intends to be gone for a while."

"Mmm. There's nothing in this room that can help us any further," said Benny.

Sarah glanced around, and then at the clock. "We should get back. Maybe Rory and Erica will have had more luck."

"Yes." Benny nodded, and walked to the door. On his way, his eye was caught by something. An empty frame. He frowned, and then noticed a torn piece of paper on the floor. He picked it up and looked at what it was.

"Benny?" asked Sarah. "Do you know what might have been in that frame?"

Blinking the tears back furiously, Benny shook his head, replacing the frame on the bookcase with a slightly shaky hand. "No," he said, softly. "Nothing important, anyway."

Sarah nodded, and turned away, opening the door. Benny dropped the bit of paper into his pocket when she wasn't looking, and taking one last look around Ethan's room, followed Sarah out.


	11. Driftwood - Part 5

**And bade betwixt their shores to be**

"Erica?"

"OK, OK, I'm coming!" called Erica, finishing tying her shoelace, straightening up, and hurrying along the path to where Rory waited impatiently.

"How did it even get untied? We _flew_ here!" Exasperated, Rory turned away and walked quickly towards the duck pond. "Hurry up. The park closes in ten minutes."

"Yeah, because we couldn't get out if the gates were locked…" said Erica under her breath.

"What was that?" asked Rory, innocently, looking back at her.

She shook her head. "Nothing, Rory, nothing." With a little burst of speed, she overtook him. "Now, come along!"

Rolling his eyes, he quickened his pace until they reached the bench.

"Is this it?" asked Erica.

Rory was about to shrug and give an 'I guess so', when he noticed three dry, dark red spots on one of the light red slats. He nodded. "Yes."

Erica followed his gaze. "Oh. Right. So. Do you think he came back here?"

"I'm not sure," said Rory. "I mean, there's nothing obvious here to suggest that he did; I don't know what it was like before, so I don't know what to look for _now_." He looked intently at the ground. "Nothing distinctively Ethan's."

Erica looked thoughtful. "Who was sitting where, do you reckon?"

"Why?" asked Rory.

"If we know where Ethan was sitting the first time, then that's probably where he sat when he came back –"

"If he came back!" pointed out Rory.

"- If he came back," corrected Erica, "and sitting where he sat might give us a clue to something. See what he saw. Plus, he's a pretty potent psychic. He's bound to have left some kind of mental imprint on the area. So where do reckon he sat?"

"Er –" Rory stared at the bench. "How would I know? If it's important, we could phone Benny, but I doubt –"

"No, no," said Erica, stepping forwards. "If the specks of blood are _here_, and they're very slightly deformed, then they came from this end here." She pointed.

Rory frowned. "Ethan was at that end, then?" He gingerly sat down and looked ahead –

Erica shook her head. "No. _Ethan_ didn't bleed. _Benny_ was at that end, so Ethan must have sat at the other end."

Rory nodded, and slid along the bench. "You know," he said, "it would have been easier if we'd both just sat on the bench on the first place…"

"See anything?" asked Erica, ignoring him.

Rory glanced about. "Uh – no."

"Are you sure?" said Erica.

"Ye – Hang on…" There _was _something that didn't look right. But it wasn't very clear, or maybe he wasn't seeing it right… Rory frowned, and then sank his head a little lower into his neck. "This is roughly Ethan's height, isn't it?"

Erica eyed him warily. "I suppose so…"

"Good." Rory nodded to Erica, and then focused his gaze straight ahead again. As soon as he did so, he jumped in shock.

"Rory!" cried Erica. "What is it?"

"Something strange." He calmed himself down and stared at something apparently just in front of him. He waved his hand through the air, as if trying to catch hold of something.

"Rory! Talk to me!"

"It's crazy, but, sitting right here, at this angle, it's like the air is _solid_ or something. And it makes a word."

"What word?" asked Erica.

"_Bye!"_

Erica blinked. "What?"

"That's the word: 'Bye!'. And it's even got a little exclamation mark next to it."

Looking sceptical, Erica wrinkled her nose. "Are you sure?"

Rory nodded. "Here." He jumped up, and gestured to the seat. She sat down on it. Going behind her, Rory pressed on her shoulders until she was at the right height. "See it?"

"No… – oh!" Erica cupped her hand over her mouth. "How…?"

Rory shrugged, resting his chin on the top of the bench. "I don't know. Ethan must have done it with his mind."

"So – he expected us to come here?"

"I suppose so…" Rory frowned. "Unless he was just doing it for fun. Just a little outburst of madness. Designed to freak us – or anyone else who might sit here – out."

"Well," said Erica, sighing, "it's working." She shivered and looked round at Rory. He looked miserable.

"I just can't believe this is Ethan. How can he be like this?" He vaulted over the bench and slumped next to her. She put her arm around him. "I mean –" he blurted out, frowning, "I mean – _how_? At what point was there anything as – as _vindictive_ as this in Ethan? When was there anything to suggest that he was capable of being this cruel?"

Erica squeezed his hand and kissed him gently on the cheek. "It's not really him, Rory," she whispered soothingly.

"But it _is_," said Rory, trembling. "All his memories, his feelings, his mind, his body. You spoke to him after – after his, uh, 'accident' and before _this_ – it was _Ethan_ that we were talking to. It wasn't some other brain dropped into his skull. No whole second person that just looks the same. This _is_ the Ethan we knew – the Ethan we love – but with all the good taken out of him." Shaking, he buried his head into Erica's hair.

She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I know, Rory, I know. And what makes it worse is that he was _so_ good."

"The best of us," murmured Rory.

"Exactly. So there was so much more good in him to lose. And any little twisted dark bits in Ethan, however small, are all that's left, and it's the contrast – the contrast makes it so bad."

"But that little bit of evil – it was _always_ in Ethan. It's not new."

Erica shrugged. "Yes. I can't tell you otherwise, Rory. Except for the fact that it's also in you. And Sarah. And Benny. And me. And if we were to remove everything good about every one of us, then we'd be left as depraved as Ethan is now. But just because it's a part of us doesn't mean that it's who we are. It's _a_ _part_, not the whole."

Rory straightened a little. "I'd never really thought about that. You really think we might all be like that?"

Erica nodded. "Ethan was the nicest kid I've ever met, and even he, it turns out, has a dark side. What hope do the rest of us have?"

Rory tilted his head sadly. "Yeah…" Then, quite unexpectedly, his mouth twitched. "We probably wouldn't even notice if it happened to you!"

Erica stared at him, silent, as a smile grew over his face. Then she grinned back, trying not to crack up. "Who knows? Maybe it's already happened!" The pair of them collapsed into each other, laughing hysterically. After everything, they just couldn't stop. They laughed until they forgot what they had been laughing about, and then carried on laughing, until –

"The park is closing. You two lovebirds should get going," said a voice. Erica, wiping unbidden tears of laughter from her eyes, looked up at the grounds man.

"Yes…" she said, slightly dazed, and more than a little embarrassed. "Come on, Rory."

He was still laughing as she pulled him up and along the path, occasionally relapsing into giggles herself.

"Kids today," muttered then man, watching them go. He shook his head. "No seriousness." He frowned at a seemingly solid patch of air, but almost immediately forgot about it and went on with his rounds.

* * *

"OK, OK! I'm over it!" protested Rory as the pair of them walked back towards Benny's house.

"Really?" said Erica, quirking up her eyebrow.

"_Yes!_" insisted Rory. He snorted and then started to snigger. "No…"

"Right, well, it wasn't _that_ funny…"

"I've had enough of moping!" said Rory, suddenly. He stopped walking and gripped her arm. "We're going to find Ethan, and we're going to make him better. This is bad, but we can get through it. And we're going to laugh as we do. Or, at the very least, smile a bit. Even at bad jokes. Hey, even at _very_ bad jokes."

"Like yours?"

"Like _yours!_" retorted Rory. He smiled briefly, and then his face set into a more serious cast. "I don't want Benny to – _I_ don't want to – think that this is too much for us. Like this is impossible. That we have to be miserable about it because Ethan is trapped into being evil. Yes, we know he's done bad things. Really, _really_ bad things. And he's only just started. But we have to see past that. When Ethan's OK again, then we'll work out what to do with him, but, for now, we just have to hope that we _can _make him OK again."

Erica nodded, before starting up in a choked voice. "You're right. We've got to get through this. And being upset about it isn't going help. The only thing is: how? We still know no more about where Ethan is."

Rory shrugged. "Maybe we don't need to. That message – it was too playful. Too open. Ethan will come back, and when he does, he won't be hiding. We just have to wait."

"But keep an eye out for weird stuff?"

"As always," said Rory. "And look after each other. We're going to need to do that more now."

Erica nodded. "Then let's get back and tell the others." They started walking. "I hope Benny's doing OK."

Rory nodded. "I don't know if it was a good idea for him to go back to Ethan's – careful!"

He grabbed Erica's shoulder. She looked at him, confused. "What –?"

He pointed at the ground, and then at her, fairly delicate, shoes. "Broken glass. From that car window." He sighed. "And this is the _good_ part of town."

Erica stepped cautiously over it. "Hmm. Come on then. Back to mission control."


	12. Driftwood - Part 6

**The unplumb'd, salt, estranging sea.**

"What do we know, then?" asked Mrs Weir, sitting at the head of the table.

"Ethan's gone," said Sarah. Rory and Erica nodded as well.

"Gone where? Did you two find anything useful?" asked Benny, looking at Erica and Rory.

Rory shrugged. "It's impossible to tell. All we found was a creepy note that said 'Bye!' and nothing else. But I think he'll come back."

"And he won't be subtle about it when he does," put in Erica. "But we've got to be ready. Ethan could do anything."

Mrs Weir nodded. "He's totally unpredictable. He could –"

"No, he isn't," said Benny. "Not entirely. He turned me into a vampire. He – he killed the others. He's got a method."

"Or a soft spot," said Erica pointedly. Sarah's eyes flickered over to meet Benny's, and he bent his head slightly.

"Yes. Me. Maybe I'm his weakness..." Benny shrugged. "Anyway, I know Ethan better than any of you, and if there's one thing that makes him show a slightly different side to his normal personality, then it's people who tell him what to do and make him feel helpless."

Rory frowned. "But I don't see how that's going to help us."

"With everything else restraining him gone, Ethan will want to be in control. He'll want people to know that it's him doing it. And he's always had a certain dramatic flair. If you want to find out where Ethan is, you'll just need to tune into the news. Follow the destruction. Follow the violence. Follow the death."

"It could really get that bad?" asked Sarah.

Rory and Benny exchanged glances. "It's Ethan," said Rory. "Anything could happen." He frowned. "Hey, where's Jane?"

"Ethan's parents picked her up," said Mrs Weir. "They seemed in kind-of a rush. They barely said anything, and they had this strange look on their faces. They got into the car and drove away. I don't know where to. It was all very odd; as if they'd only just remembered about her."

"But they didn't come into their house," said Sarah. "Not while Benny and I were there."

Mrs Wei shook her head. "No. I hope –" She broke off.

"What?" asked Sarah, worried.

Mrs Weir drew her lips together. "I think Ethan might have done something to them."

"Like what?" exclaimed Rory. "Zombified them?"

Mrs Weir shook her head. "They weren't zombies. I know zombies. Nice people. Do you remember your eleventh birthday party, Benny, when Mr and Mrs –"

"Uh, Mrs Weir?" broke in Erica. "Can we get back to exactly what Ethan has done to his parents?"

"Well, you must remember that Ethan is an unusually gifted psychic. He already has significant ability to work within the mind. Now, well, that has, presumably, been enhanced by the latent psychic powers of vampirism."

"So he's done something to their minds? Like Anastasia does?" asked Rory.

Mrs Weir nodded. "He might not even have meant to. It's possible that, given his current instability, it would only have taken a forceful 'Go away' to make them take his instruction literally. And, in comparison to what even the most powerful vampires can do, the strength of Ethan's thoughts is much greater. He would be able to control them without difficulty, though not, perhaps, with much direction. I suspect that they are only going 'away'. It's interesting that they came back to retrieve Jane, but, I suppose, some things override even the strongest of mental commands."

"So Ethan's mum and dad could be anywhere, too?" asked Sarah.

Mrs Weir nodded. "I doubt even Ethan knows where they might be going. Probably _they _don't either. In fact, it's entirely possible that they hide themselves so well that we never find them."

"What about Jane?" asked Sarah, jumping up. "We can't just leave her there!"

"She's with her parents," pointed out Mrs Weir calmly. "It's where she should be, and there's nothing that we could have done to take her away from them. Who knows, maybe it will be her that helps us find them again. After all this is over."

"But are they safe?" asked Erica.

Mrs Weir looked thoughtful. "Whatever happened to them, it looks like getting as far away from here, and probably Ethan, is their main aim, so they're probably safer than anyone from him. Whenever he comes near to them, they'll probably feel the need to move away."

"We can't do anything?" said Rory, upset.

Mrs Weir shook her head. "No. Only Ethan would be able to lift the mental order, which he probably isn't even aware of, and even then…" She shrugged. "It's safer, I think, if we don't try and locate them. We don't want to put them in danger."

Benny lifted his head. "So it's just the five of us?"

They nodded, and then Erica looked slightly awkward and cleared her throat. "Well, er, Sarah and I have to get back to university, so we can't be here all the time."

"We could –" started Sarah.

"No," said Benny, firmly. "Everyone has to get on with their lives as usual. If we really, really need to, we can always send word to you. And, of course, Ethan could even be in Toronto. And then you could send for us. But we're not going to let what's happened change our lives. We're going to deal with it, staying as normal as possible. OK?"

Sarah hesitated, and then nodded. "Yeah. But if there's ever _anything_, just call."

Rory looked nervously over at Benny. "We could handle it, couldn't we, Benny?"

"I'm sure you could," said Mrs Weir. "But I'll be here, too."

"So, what's the plan?" asked Erica. "We just wait?"

Sarah tipped her head from side to side. "We _get_ _ready._" The others nodded.

"Now, is that everything?" asked Mrs Weir.

Benny looked down at the table, then over at Erica, and then at Sarah. "Not quite," he said, in a small voice. "There's something I need to tell you…"

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be alright?" Erica asked Benny, standing in the doorway.

"Fine!" he said, giving her a smile. She didn't buy it. "Really!" he insisted.

She rested a hand on his arm and smiled sympathetically. "Benny…"

He looked back at her in silence.

"I'm glad you told them, Benny. I – I thought you never would. I'm proud of you."

He linked his fingers with hers. "Thank you," he said, quietly. He hesitated. "Do you – do you think –?"

"Rory?" Erica smiled wanly. "He'll be OK. He's just a bit surprised, that's all. He's known you all his life, and now he thinks that it's changed."

"It hasn't!" burst out Benny, his eyes filling with angry tears.

"I know," said Erica, soothingly. "And so will he. Give him time to realise it. He'll get over it soon enough."

Benny nodded, and sniffed. "It was just the way – he just rushed out without looking at me. I can't – I just _can't_ – lose another friend today."

"You haven't, Benny." She patted the top of his hand. "Now you will trust me on that?"

He nodded.

"Good. Now, give me or Sarah a ring if anything happens."

"Have a nice flight," he said, giving her a weak smile.

She went to turn away, when suddenly she span around and engulfed him in a massive hug. "Everything will work out, Benny," she whispered, her head on his shoulders. "I _know_ it."

His lower lip wobbled, but he still nodded. She kissed him on the cheek. "See you another time, Benny."

He blinked, and she had flashed away. Benny stared for a moment into the darkness, his eyes picking out the white beams of Ethan's house reflecting the light of the street lamp. His breath misted in the chill air. He sighed, and swung the door shut –

"Wait! Wait – wait!"

A foot jammed itself between the door and the frame. "Ouch!" cried a voice.

Benny opened the door again, and looked up into Rory's panicked-, embarrassed-, and distraught-looking face.

"I'm sorry, Benny!" he blurted. "I didn't mean to – I shouldn't have – I just didn't –" He stopped, abashed. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "That was wrong of me. I regretted it as soon as it happened. Can we try again?"

Benny stared at him for a moment, and then flung his arms tightly around his friend. Rory hesitated for a moment, and then put his own arms around Benny's shoulders.

"I thought – I thought I'd lost you as well –" sobbed Benny.

"Hey!" said Rory, looking down into Benny's face and beaming. "You can't get rid of me _that_ easily!"

Benny made a small, bunged-up laugh, and then subsided into quiet again.

"It's going to be OK, Benny…" murmured Rory. "I'm here for you."

"Yeah," said Benny, pushing away from Rory and wiping his eyes. "Yeah." He smiled. "Just you wait and see. Everything will be back to normal in no time!" He smoothed down his hair. "So – that's the last sad face we'll be seeing! From now on, think positively!" He grinned earnestly at Rory, who matched it.

"Alright, then. But, if you need me, I'm only seconds away!"

Benny nodded, still with a grin fixed on his face. "See you!"

Rory waved and sped off into the night.

Benny watched him go, then turned, and closed the door.

* * *

A while later, his grandma found Benny sitting with his back to the door, huddled over his knees, gently rocking back and forth and crying.

She knelt down next to her beloved boy in silence, and, when he let her, took one of his hands. He held it for a long time, just holding it and crying. She regularly and rhythmically ran her other hand over each one of his fingers, and she had done when he had been upset when he was younger. She didn't say anything, until, at last, he spoke.

His eyes red and puffy, he looked over at her. "It's not going to be OK, is it? Nothing's ever going to be normal again."

She didn't reply, only wrapping her arm around him. She loved Benny so much. She just couldn't bear how unhappy everything had made him. She knew that it wasn't Ethan's fault, but still… She wanted to make things better, and, for once, she just didn't know how.

"Grandma…?" he said, in a choked voice. "Can I stay in with you tonight? Just for tonight, after – after everything, could I –?"

She squeezed him a little tighter. "Of course, dear. If you think it would help."

He nodded, and nuzzled further into her side. "Ethan…" he murmured. He started to cry again, and, though they did eventually make their way upstairs, he didn't stop all night.


	13. Episode 3 - I, Rory

**Episode Three. Keep reviewing and adding suggestions of what you think might happen!**

* * *

I, Rory

* * *

**I sing the body electric**

More than two months had passed.

Mrs Weir was making breakfast. It took no more than a brief glance over her shoulder to confirm that Benny was, as always, hanging around just a short distance away. Ever since Ethan had vanished, Benny had clung to her like an exceptionally solid shadow. Wherever she went, he trailed after her; even if that was just the kitchen, then he would sit watching her from the table for hours. He had refused to spend his nights in his own room, and would only go to school if she walked him there and back.

Rory came to the front door every morning, hoping that it would be the day when he and Benny could walk to school together, but, every morning, Benny would shake his head silently, and she would have to tell Rory to go on without Benny. But still, despite a month of disappointments, Rory was always there, just in case Benny changed his mind. It didn't stop her seeing Rory's heartbroken face every morning as she closed the door, though.

She had no idea what Benny was like at school. He seemed to be doing OK. Certainly she knew that he was doing his homework. Maybe he put on an act for the teachers. She knew that he tried to do it for Rory, but, whenever Benny was at home, the whole façade collapsed. No-one came over. Benny never went out. Sometimes he'd spontaneously cry. For most of the time, though, he just sat there, staring mournfully into space.

To be honest, it was getting more than a little pathetic.

She knew that each day since he'd been bitten had weighed heavily on Benny, and the catalogue of Ethan's suspected crimes that they had tracked across Canada had only made things worse, but, still… Every now and then she caught him sucking his thumb. He'd never done that even when a child! It was like his development was unravelling, and Benny didn't care to stop it.

She was partly to blame, of course. She'd not wanted to say anything. She'd hoped that he would get better. She'd not challenged him when she should have challenged him, and now…

Oh, Ethan, what have you done?

She knew the answer to that; well, as best as she was able. Erica and Sarah had barely been back in Toronto a day when they reported on a Council meeting where the topic had been a spate of vicious vampire attacks. They'd managed to cover them up as ordinary murders, but, try as he might, Aloysius couldn't find the rogue vampire. The two girls had fretted over telling him about Ethan's violent turn. They'd told her that he was extremely single-minded. He would have had no qualms about stopping Ethan by any means necessary. They still wanted to confront Ethan on their own terms.

Then the deaths stopped. In Toronto, at least. They and her had followed the sporadic news reports with mounting horror as strange deaths popped up in random locations across the country. The police originally considered a serial killer, but were stumped by the speed at which the deaths occurred. It simply wasn't humanly possible for one person to have travelled between the crime scenes. So they had gone back to coincidences, accidents, suicides. The panic subsided as quickly as it had risen. People forgot about the weird deaths. Eventually, they happened so frequently that it was like a TV show. It just became blasé. People absorbed it into their normal mode of behaviour. They stopped noticing. Murder dropped off the news. To be replaced by the economy, and distant wars, and stories about plucky dogs rescuing their owners. And then the massacre.

Yes, that had caught the attention. Far to the north, a tiny village – probably not even a hamlet – was cut off by a blizzard. By the time it was reconnected, everyone who lived there was dead. It was, of course, rationalised away. Someone had gone crazy being hemmed in like that. These tiny, out-of-the-way places were bound to be somewhere a madman would choose to live. Of course people like that would do violent things – that was why they lived on the edge of society. Besides, it was only eleven people. Maybe they'd all just frozen to death. That was it. Not killed, _died_. Then it was the government's fault for not securing the power lines; not making sure that people were safe from the cold. After that, it just became a political story, swept up in the mess of parliamentary party politics. Another scandal. And yet another story that faded from the news and from the public imagination.

But the five of them knew. It was the aerial photos and news coverage. They never showed the bodies, of course; besides, they were frozen. But it was the shape in the snow. It looked like a set of ditches. No-one paid it much attention, except to remark on how funny it was that it looked just like a giant 'E'. And it was certainly funny – to Ethan.

That had been the last event that had shown up. They'd searched and searched over the last three weeks, but there seemed to be nothing obviously suspicious anywhere. Ethan had gone quiet. Maybe he'd felt that he'd made his big statement. Maybe he had, at last, been satisfied with draining eleven people. Maybe he was full. Or maybe, and this was Mrs Weir's suspicion, he was just becoming subtler. Whatever it was, he'd made himself impossible to find.

And then, after all that, the last blow had come. Just before Easter, the Morgans sold their house. The five of them hadn't worked out _how_ they had done it without revealing their location, but, somehow, they'd managed to put it up for sale anonymously and untraceably. Everything in it had been shipped off to some container address – everything except Ethan's stuff, about which there had been no instructions. It was all going to be thrown out, she had discovered.

But she couldn't have that. If that happened, then there was no chance of ever recovering Ethan. That would be accepting that he was gone, and she would not allow it. So, one night, she, Erica, Rory, and Sarah (Benny had been unable to face it) had let themselves in (she still had a key), boxed everything up, and put it in one of Mrs Weir's spare rooms. Everything: clothes, computer, games, comics, photos (including, oddly an empty frame), bed sheets, and books. Just in case.

It was a faint hope, but one that they all needed. After Benny, it was clear that Rory missed Ethan the most. When Erica was around, things were better, and she flew back most week-ends, but when she wasn't – well, Rory had never had any other friends, and, with Benny shutting himself away, he had nobody. Apparently he went to the graveyard at nights. She wasn't entirely sure why, or whether it was a very healthy thing to do, but it seemed to help him. As for the girls, they at least had each other most of the time, as well as their network of friends at university.

Putting two bowls down on the table, she glanced up at Benny, slumped heavily in a chair. If only she could get him to come out of himself again. It would help Rory, too.

As she ate her breakfast in silence, she watched Benny sadly. Where had all that life gone? Once –

She sighed inwardly. Once, indeed. _Now_ he looked pale and pasty even for a vampire. If he hadn't been immortal, she'd have been seriously worried about his health. She remembered Sarah once jokingly telling her that she could tell the day of the week by his outfit. She'd have a lot more trouble these days, for he wore the same thing all the time: black. And not with any style or dignity, but a crumpled, baggy black tracksuit. He wore it until she made him take it off to wash it, and then he'd just sit by the washing machine, wrapped in a towel or a sheet, waiting for it to come out again. Then he'd put it back on again. She wondered what he'd do when it no longer fitted, or ripped, or shrank.

No. She had to be firm with him. Make him – make him – She looked up, stern, about to –

And then her eyes met his, staring vacantly at her above a loose-lipped mouth hanging open slightly as it munched cereal. And she looked into them and saw nothing but despair in them: two dark tunnels bearing away pain and grief into his mind. She broke again, unable to say anything against him, even if it _would_ help him. All she wanted was to hold him close to her and just love him until everything was over, and that look – _that terrible look_ – was no longer carved upon his face.

But she couldn't do it. She had no idea what could.

Her reverie was broken by a sharp and insistent rap at the door. She frowned and looked at the clock. This was early for Rory. It came again, louder this time. Benny shrank away with every knock, wincing. Wide-eyed, he looked helplessly at her, shaking his head.

She got up and went to the door. She opened it. There was Rory, a panicked expression on his face.

"Rory," he started, "I'm sorry, again, but he won't –"

"No!" cried Rory, pushing at the door. "This is important! I _have_ to come in."

"Rory – what – I really _am_ sorry, but –"

"Benny! Benny!" shouted Rory, ducking under her arm and into the house. "_Benny!_"


	14. I, Rory - Part 2

**And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?**

"Benny!" yelled Rory, throwing open the kitchen door and fixing his startled friend with an intense stare. Benny dropped his spoon from his mouth in surprise, and it fell into his bowl of cereal. That, in turn, sent globs of milk flying into the air – and all over Benny.

The two of them held each other's gaze for a moment, and then Rory, unable to help himself, started to laugh. Benny dripped quietly, apparently unmoved. Then, as Rory laughed louder and louder, his own lips twitched into a smile, and he began to chuckle as well. By the time they were finished, they were both wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. Despite this, though, when Rory had recovered himself, Benny's face was as impassive as ever. Dead, even. Maybe it had just been a hallucination. No milk spots. No laughter. No life.

"Benny?" asked Rory. No reply. The little flicker of hope that had sparked within him wavered dangerously. "Benny," said Rory, "I need your help. These last couple of months haven't been quiet on the supernatural front, but they been manageable, and I've _managed_. But now, well, I think there's something dangerous. And I can't keep doing this on my own. I'm going to slip up." He tried a goofy grin. "You know me. I'm bound to do something stupid at some point, and then we'll all be sorry! So what do you say? Going to help me out?"

Dead-eyed, Benny looked at Rory. He shook his head, and then looked down at the table.

"Come on – Benny…? Please?"

Mrs Weir put her hand gently on Rory's shoulder.

Rory felt the last bit of hope die within his chest. Benny had given up. He closed his mouth, and, after standing stock still for a moment, his face assembling itself into a miserable expression, he turned to go. It seemed, or would have done, had Benny not been focusing all of his attention on a line on the table, that the Rory who left the room was vastly smaller than the one that had entered: stooped, shrunken, crushed.

He paused at the front door and gripped the frame with one hand. He bowed his head, and covered his forehead with his hand. "Alright. Alright," he murmured. "That's it." He sighed, and lifted his leg to step over the threshold.

Then he stopped, his leg hovering in the air.

His knuckles white, Rory tightened his hold on the doorframe. There was a distinct crunch as a piece broke off, the splinters digging into his hand. He didn't flinch. He didn't even wobble.

"No," he said, under his breath. "It isn't."

"Rory…?" said Mrs Weir, tentative. She took a step forwards. "Are you –"

"That's not it," said Rory, a little louder. "And it's not alright."

Very calmly, and deliberately, he put his foot back down, inside the house.

"No," he said firmly. "It's _not_ alright!"

He turned sharply on his heel, his face set. He pushed past Mrs Weir and stalked down the hall into the kitchen, and walking right up to the table, where Benny was still dumbly sitting.

"It's not alright, Benny," he said. He knocked the bowl of cereal to one side, sending it spinning off the end of the table and breaking with a _crack_ on the tiled floor."It's not alright," he growled into Benny's frightened face. "Things are still happening in this town, Benny, whether Ethan's here or not. Whether _you _notice them or not. I told you, I've tried to cover, but there's only so much I can do on my own. You're needed, Benny. Ethan, you, the deaths – these are all bad things, but there are other things that need dealing with, too. Life doesn't just stop because we're upset. Even if we think everything is broken beyond repair in _our_ life, there are thousands of things outside of us that need taking care of. Life doesn't just stop because you can't bear to think about it. I thought we'd worked all this out already, Benny. I thought things were going to get better. 'No more sad faces.' That's what you said. You lied to me, or you were wrong: I don't know which, but I know that this isn't how we said we'd help each other through it. And now there's something in this town that's going to be a problem, and it's happening in the school, and I can't handle it on my own. It needs you, Benny. The school needs you. _Whitechapel_ needs you. _I need you_."

Benny made no response.

With a snarl, Rory slammed down the piece of the door frame that he had still been holding onto. It skittered across the table, flecked with the dark spots of blood that it had drawn from Rory's palm and fingers. "Benny!"

He pulled himself onto the table, and, kneeling, grabbed his friend by the collar of his shirt. "You can't let this be you!" he cried. "You just can't! _I_ won't let you!" He lifted Benny up and out of his chair, bringing him up to eye level. He glared at him, furious with Benny for just wallowing in his grief instead of trying to make it better. "How _dare_ you be like this! It's an insult to everything you were – everything _we_ were –" (Rory narrowed his eyes) "- everything _Ethan_ was!" He shook him. "Benny!" Benny's eyes stayed as dead as ever. "Benny!" Out of frustration, Rory brought back his hand to hit him, and then –

Horrified at what he'd been about to do, Rory dropped Benny back into his seat and slid off of the table. He leaned over the wooden top and gently took Benny's unresisting hands. "Benny…" He brought the two hands together, cupping them within his own. "Benny – I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – Look – I, I –"

"Rory –" said Mrs Weir, starting forwards from the door. "I think you'd better –"

"Benny," said Rory, insistently, pressing Benny's hands together, "I didn't know what to say two months ago, and I don't know what to say now. All I know is that I love you and I love Ethan. And even when we thought he'd killed you, I thought that there was a way back for him. I still do, no matter what he's done."

He brought Benny's hands up to his mouth and kissed them reverently. "I love the two of you more than I can say, and, between you, you're breaking me up." His eyes filled with tears. "Sometimes I can forget that Ethan isn't here, because, well, he isn't here. But you –_ you _I've lost with you sitting right here in front of me. But, Benny, you don't have to be lost. We can get through this. Together. We can wait it out until some time when we can get Ethan back. But, like this, you'll never get there. _I'll_ never get there. He'll _never_ come back to us. And then whoever it is that did whatever it was to Ethan will have won."

He squeezed Benny's hands together and brought them almost upright, so that it seemed that they were both praying. "All we've got now is hope, Benny," whispered Rory. "_Please_ don't give it up." His hands trembled briefly, and then he let Benny's hands go.

They stayed there for a moment, tiny streaks of Rory's blood drying on the outside. Then they dropped down to the table with a thump. Benny's eyes met Rory's, who stared searchingly into the darkness. Was there a little glint of life in there? He just didn't know. He stayed there, unblinking, for some time, just staring and staring into Benny's eyes, willing him to sustain just the faintest amount of hope.

Benny bent his head and stared down at the table again with hooded eyes.

Rory's lower lip quivered. He'd failed. He'd tried the big speech, the invocation of Ethan, even the threat of actual bodily violence – all in vain. Maybe he'd been wrong – maybe now he'd only pushed Benny even further away. But why couldn't Benny _see_ how much this was damaging everyone?

Rory bowed his head and let out a long and ragged sigh. "Fuck it all, then," he hissed, spreading his hands wide. "I give up." He couldn't help but bite his lip in embarrassment. He didn't remember the last time he'd sworn in front of Benny, in front of _anyone, _and – mortified, he realised that Mrs Weir was still there. He would have blushed, if he could.

Instead, he raised his head and looked sadly at the top of Benny's head. "Good-bye, Benny," he said, curtly. "I won't be troubling you again."

Nodding briefly at Mrs Weir, he span smartly around and started to walk back into the hall. He wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not now. He'd get out of sight of the house first, and then – _ouch_!

There was a sharp pain on the back of his head, and he felt something bounce over it. Instinctively, he put his hand out, and a little lump of speckled wood landed in his palm.

"Rory?" came a cracked voice from behind him.

He turned. He smiled.

Benny stood up behind the table. He eyed Rory quizzically. "So, what exactly _is_ this problem that you've managed to get yourself into?"


	15. I, Rory - Part 3

**Pause, listen, count**

"You're saying that one of our teachers has been building a robot army?" asked Benny, incredulous and breathless, as the pair of them hurried to school.

"Yes!" said Rory. "How many more times?" He tilted his head. "Well… I wouldn't say an _army_. At most about ten. Maybe fifteen."

Benny blinked. "How big an army do you want?"

Rory looked at him, confused. "A few thousand…?"

"Well, it's enough for one school, and it's enough for us. Which teacher is it, by the way?"

"Our English teacher," said Rory, absolutely straight faced.

"_Really?_" asked Benny, amazed. "I'd have thought –"

"No, Benny, I was just kidding. It's the IT teacher." Rory narrowed his eyes. "I think."

"Hang on – is it the IT teacher, or the English teacher. I'm not following –"

"And they say _I'm_ the one that gets easily confused!" sighed Rory.

"Hey! I've been off for a while. I'm a little bit rusty!" objected Benny.

"Yeah, sure," said Rory, a grin spreading over his face. "Now, keep up, or we'll be late."

"OK, OK, I'm right with you!" They sped on in silence for a minute. "You know, Rory –?"

"Yeah?"

"Back in the house, if you'd just said 'there's a robot army', that would have snapped me out of it in no time. None of that shaking me about."

"Really?" said Rory, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah! This is _so cool!_" He caught Rory's stern glance and held up his hands. "And a serious danger... When did _you_ get so prudish?" Rory just shrugged. "Why do you need me, anyway?" Benny asked. "Why is _this_ problem such a big problem?"

Rory bit his lip. "Er – well – um – I was always more of the comic book, sci-fi, and superhero nerd. Not like you and Ethan, who were the computer geeks. Completely different sub-category. Just because you fit one type, doesn't mean that you fit in them all. Hence 'vampire ninja', not 'vampire hacker'."

"Well, you can always learn…" said Benny, looking smug, and Rory just _knew_ what was going to come next: "… from the master."

"_Right_," said Rory, rolling his eyes. They turned into the school gate. He looked around. There was no-one around. "Are we late?" he asked Benny.

"No, boys, just in time," said a voice behind them.

* * *

"Stop looking at me like that. Or that. _Benny_!" Rory scowled. "Look, how was I to know that the principal was going to make then first ten people in to school do a litter-pick?"

"Hurry up, Benny, we're going to be _late_," mimicked Benny, clutching the bin bag. He sighed. "You've missed one."

Rory turned around to look at where Benny was pointing. He pulled a squashed can out of the gutter. He frowned at it. "Why do people just chuck things on the ground? It's _so_ annoying."

He went to drop it into the bag, when Benny stopped him. "Er, Rory? Look at it more closely."

He looked. He blushed. "Oh. Er –"

"You're the only person in the school I've ever seen drinking that stuff…"

"Well, accidents happen to all of us, Benny," said Rory, carelessly.

"Yeah," said Benny, not paying much attention. "Can you see anyone around?"

Rory checked. "No. Why?"

"Because I'm bored of this," replied Benny. He muttered something, and a green ring of flames fanned quickly out from where they stood in the middle of the playground, burning up all the scraps of paper, crisp packets, and sweet wrappers. Then the circle rushed back in, bringing with it all the cans. "Come on," said Benny. "Help me scoop these into the bag, and then we can get back to saving the world."

Rory obliged, and, having sent the bag to Principal Hicks, the pair slipped off to look around.

"So," said Benny, "where do you reckon we should start looking? Or is it just the basement, like it normally is?"

"Well, I was here after school, looking for rats – they've got some really big, fat ones that live along the left hand wall –"

"Thanks, Rory," said Benny, grimacing. He put a hand over his mouth. "Oh! _That_ wall – that's the kitchen!"

"Is it?" said Rory. "Oh, yeah…" He shrugged.

Benny pulled a face. "Great – _twice_."

"What do you eat, then?" asked Rory, raising his eyebrows. "You have to drink blood somewhere. Or are you on the Sarah diet of blood bags? Or have you not – you know…"

"I'm still on the blood substitute. I do _live_ with the person that makes it, you know," said Benny. "Anyway, go back to your story."

"Well, I was looking for rats, and there was this flickering light from one of the windows. I've been at this long enough now to know that it's never good when that happens. I couldn't look in clearly, because the glass was all frosted, but, from what I could make out, it looked like computers and electronics, and then there was a whirring sound and a metallic voice started to speak." He stopped his story and grinned, pleased with himself.

Benny blinked. "Well, that was really helpful, Rory. Really, really specific."

"Thanks!"

Benny rolled his eyes. There were some things, like sarcasm, that Rory would never get. Which might prove a problem if he was going out with Erica. Though, in all honesty, it hadn't seemed to so far. Maybe she was different around him. Maybe he was different around her. Certainly when he had been with Ethan –

"Benny? Benny?" said Rory, waving his hand in front of Benny's eyes. "You suddenly went al zoned out and sad-looking. Everything OK?"

"Yeah – yeah. Right. Nothing. OK. So, where were we? Oh, yes: _where_ did this light come from?"

"The window at the back of the physics lab. Here, I'll show you." Rory hurried off around the corner. "Right, er, one, two, three, four, _five_. This window." He pointed.

Benny pressed his face to the window, cupping his hands around his eyes, trying to block out the glare. He could see something moving about inside –

There was a shriek from inside, sending Benny hurrying away from the glass. He stared at Rory, who looked up and down the school wall, grimaced, and bit his lip. "Er – oops."

"_What_?" asked Benny, nervous.

"Wrong side of the school. Sorry. That was –" Rory twitched and smoothed down his hair. He looked embarrassed. "That was – er – probably the – er – girls' toilets…" he finished, looking down at his shoes.

Benny gave him a withering glare and stalked off towards the other side of the school.

"It's not like they had anything to worry about from _you_, was it?" called out Rory.

Benny shot him a dark look over his shoulder. "Tell everyone, why don't you?" he growled.

* * *

"The physics lab?"

"Uh-huh. Ready?" asked Rory. Benny nodded. Rory twisted the handle and pushed. He frowned. "It won't open!" he hissed. "I think it might be locked."

"Let me," said Benny, taking the handle. He pulled. The door swung open. "Have you _never_ been in here?" he asked with a sigh.

Rory shrugged his shoulders. "Uh – well, anyway, this light was opposite the fifth window."

"OK…" said Benny. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Rory, frowning. "Of course!"

"Because there are only four windows in here."

Rory checked. "Oh. Um. That's not right. Hang on a minute –"

He rushed out of the room and tapped down the corridor. Moments later, he was back, a confused look on his face.

"What is it?" asked Benny.

"The next room – biology – only has normal windows, like this room. And – and – look!"

He dragged Benny out into the hall and pointed excitedly. "There's such a big gap between the physics lab and the biology lab." Rory patted the large blank space. "What's behind here?"

Benny frowned. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Hidden room!" squealed Rory, bouncing up and down in excitement.

Benny looked up and down the corridor, gesturing at Rory to keep his voice down. "Why don't you say it again!" he whispered. "Someone might not have heard you…"

Shaking his head, he leaned into the wall, pressing his ear against the plaster, and tapping it with his hand.

"Got anything?" said Rory, right by his other ear. Benny jumped back, startled.

"Oh! – oh, well, yeah, it sounds different. I think. I don't know, though. I've never got how people tell."

"Let's check where it should be," said Rory, leading the way back into the lab.

The pair of them looked at the back wall. Everything seemed normal enough, with a bookscase on the left, and the rest of it covered up with posters and bits of project work done by overly-keen students. Among them were the battered remains of one of Hannah's, its corner peeling up from the wall. Benny scratched his head.

"There's something that's bothering me, though – the gap between rooms is pretty big, yeah, but not big enough for a 'robot army'."

Rory shrugged. "I know what I saw."

"Hmm." Benny ran a hand over the wall, feeling for gaps or hinges. Nothing.

"You know," broke in Rory, staring dreamily at the bookcase, "I thought Physics was interesting, but look at all these boring looking books."

"What? Rory, this isn't helping!" said Benny, irritably.

"I mean," said Rory, not paying attention to Benny at all, "Why would you need _Principles of Accounting_?" He pulled it out. "What's that got to do with Physics, eh, Benny?" He weighed it in his hands. "_Benny_?"

He looked up. Benny was gone.


	16. I, Rory - Part 4

**As I see my soul reflected in Nature**

"Benny?" said Rory, waving his hand through the empty air. "Where did you go?" he asked, not really sure who to. "Hang on," he said, grinning, "I get it."

He turned sharply around, expecting Benny to be behind him. No Benny. He did it again, just to be sure. Still no Benny. Hmm. This was odd…

Rory noticed that he was still holding the book. Why was he doing that? With a sigh, he put it back on the shelf. He turned around – and almost hit the roof.

"Benny!" he cried. "Where have you been?"

Benny looked confused. "I don't know – somewhere else." He frowned, suspicious. "Did you do anything?"

Rory shook his head. "I wasn't really doing anything," he admitted. "In fact, I was just about to show you this book…"

He turned to show it to Benny, but when he looked back, Benny had vanished again.

"Benny?" he said again, frowning. Then he looked down at the book. Oh. Could it be…? No. Too – too sci-fi…

Not taking his eyes off the spot where Benny had been, Rory felt behind him to the gap in the bookshelf. He slotted the book back into place. With a blur, Benny was standing in front of him, looking faintly green.

"Rory –" he started, "I think it's –"

"The book?" finished Rory. "I know. I mean, I thought so. But now I know."

Benny scrutinised the floor. "Look," he said, pointing in an arc. "There's a really tiny gap here." He looked at the wall, impressed. "The whole thing must swivel."

"Shall I try again, just to test?" asked Rory, reaching for the book.

"No!" said Benny, jumping over the line and onto what he presumed was normal flooring. "I think that my breakfast might come back up if there are many more little 'tests.'"

"It was only a bit of cereal…" said Rory.

"No!"

Rory pulled a face. "Fine. But you're going to have to stomach it at least once. We've got to go through there."

"True." Benny grimaced. "But how do you open in it if the bookcase is over there?"

Rory shrugged. "Maybe it's for emergencies, or something – but, hang on, I think I've got an idea. Are you sure that you're off?"

Benny came over to stand by Rory. "I guess so. What's the plan?"

"There must be some kind of button, or something," said Rory, pointing at the book. "Maybe we can jam it open."

"What if someone comes in while we're through?"

Rory pondered for a moment, and then shrugged. "The best we can do is lock the classroom door."

Benny went over to it. "We can't. No key."

Rory rolled his eyes. "At the risk of making a reference to _Harry Potter_, 'Are you a witch or not?'"

Benny smiled goofily. "_Not_," he said, laughing. He waved his hand, and the door sealed with a squelching sound. He frowned. "Uh – I'm not entirely sure that I know how to undo that one…"

Rory sighed. "Well, we'll just have to deal with _that_ problem when we get back from the first. Now… button – button – button –"

He lifted up the book. Benny let out a gasp. "It was so fast!" he exclaimed.

Rory felt around in the gap where the book had been. He frowned. "It must be more scientific than a button, then," he mused. "More complicated anyway. OK. So."

He put the book into the gap, and then took it out again. He heard the familiar _whoosh_. He did it a few more times, more and more quickly, until –

"Stop!" cried Benny. "It's stuck open."

Rory looked around. A section of the wall now stuck straight out into the room, with gaps each side. Beyond it, there was a faint flickering glow. He grinned. "Great!"

"Let's go," said Benny, starting gingerly through the wall. Rory hurried through after him. "Well, this is odd…" Benny breathed, looking around. The room was quite narrow, but, against one wall was an array of computers, beeping and flashing and whirring, as those sorts of computers always did.

"It's like a film!" whispered Rory, excitedly. He shot a cheery glance at Benny. "We're quite good at this, aren't we?"

Benny bobbed his head noncommittally. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. Where is this 'robot army' of yours?"

Rory looked about them. "Uh…" He looked thoughtful, but, just as he was about to speak, there was a groan from the mechanism that rotated the door, clearly visible from this side of the wall. The pair of them quickly jumped off the platform, and the entrance swung shut. There was the distinct _click_, which sounded suspiciously like something locking.

"Oops," murmured Benny. "That doesn't sound good, does it, Rory? Rory?"

"Ow…" moaned Rory, picking himself up off the floor. "I caught my foot on something," he complained, wincing and rubbing his ankle. He looked back along the floor to see what it might have been, hoping, perhaps, for the possibility of a futile gesture of revenge against the inanimate object. He frowned as he saw the shiny metal ring that he'd knocked out of positon.

"Benny?" he said.

"What?"

"You're going to love this…" said Rory, a smile pulling at his mouth.

"Why…?" asked Benny, suspicious.

"There's a trapdoor!"

Benny groaned. "I just _knew_ that we would end up being in the basement!"

* * *

"You'd think – _ouch! –"_

"Sorry, Benny… What were you going to say?"

"You'd think that an ultra-modern robot-creating base-thing would have lights!"

"It does."

"What! Where? And why aren't they on?"

"Up here." There was a ringing tap from above. "Can you not see them?"

"_No!_"

"Why not?"

"Because the _lights aren't on!_"

"But – but you're a vampire. We can see in the dark."

"I can't. I must be defective."

"Hmm. Oh, I see –"

"Well _I_ don't."

" – You're not fledged. It's probably one of the upgrades you haven't got yet." There was a sigh. "You're really going to have to bite someone, or else you're going to end up pretty useless."

"But I don't want to!"

"You might have to."

"Well… Anyway, can we have the lights on now?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Two reasons: there generally aren't light switches in the middle of corridors, and, if we're trying to sneak around, turning the lights on wouldn't help us out much in that area, now, would it?"

"Ah. No. I guess not. Sorry. As I said, I'm a bit rusty at this."

"No problem. You're doing pretty well for someone coming out of retirement."

"Thanks, Rory."

"Was that sarcastic?"

"Oh, _no_…"

"Good. Come on, then."

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"If you can see in the dark, how come _you_ crashed into _me_?"

"I'm just, er, really clumsy…"

* * *

"Are we nearly there yet?"

"How the _hell_ would I know, Rory? And why would I know _now_ when I didn't two minutes ago?"

"Just trying to lighten the mood – oh, look out, Benny, there's –"

"_Ow!_"

" – a door…" finished Rory, lamely.

"Rory?"

"Uh-huh…?" said Rory, wary.

"We're there. There's light on the other side of the door. I can just about make you out." Benny leaned down to the handle of the door. "And there's a key-hole."

"Can you see through it?"

"It's too bright. There could be anything through there. We're just going to have to be bold as lions, and throw it open. Well, open it a little bit, slip out, and close it silently. Like, uh, people creeping about like mice. Or even mice. If we could do mice, that would be good – _Rory! Yuck!_"

"Sorry! It was all that talk of mice, I couldn't help it…"

With a sigh, Benny tried the handle. It wasn't locked

"Quickly!" he hissed. "And _quietly_!"

They slipped out into the room beyond. Both of their jaws dropped in astonishment at once.

"This is a bit more than a basement, Benny…" said Rory.

Benny nodded slowly, awestruck. They were at the edge of an enormous white rom, with row upon row of machines, computers, and, above all, robots in various stages of construction. There was a huge amount of activity going on, and everything was whirring and clicking, and beeping and blinking. It was astonishing that something so large and complex was going on right underneath their school.

"Not just ten robots here, eh, Rory?" murmured Benny.

"How are we going to be able to deal with this?" whispered back Rory. "There's just so much of it!"

"I'm not sure…" said Benny, scanning the room, "But there must be something, somewhere controlling all this."

"Over there!" said Rory, suddenly excited. He pointed towards a circular bank of screens and consoles. "Maybe you could, you know, do computer nerd stuff and turn it all off!"

"Worth a shot," said Benny. "But we've got to be careful. We don't want anyone to find out that we're here, or –"

"Good morning, boys!" boomed a voice from loudspeakers. A large chair positioned in front of the control area swivelled around to face them. And can you guess what he said next?

"I've been expecting you."


	17. I, Rory - Part 5

**For they do not conceal themselves**

A blinding spotlight fixed itself onto them, turning on with one of those _cracks_ that big lights always made when they came on in big, echoing rooms.

Benny yawned behind his hand. So much drama. So little call for it.

He squinted across at the figure in the chair. He nudged Rory. "It _is_ our English teacher!"

Rory frowned at him. "Yeah… I told you that, didn't I?"

"No, you said – oh, never mind!" Benny looked around. "Do we run, or –"

The two of them lurched as the floor moved underneath them, ferrying them towards their teacher. This, Benny felt, was very excessive. Just how much of this kind of thing was necessary? How prepared did you have to be to expect _this_ scenario? He wondered idly how much this had all cost. Where had the money come from? The time? And why hadn't anyone noticed such a massive operation?

Well, Whitechapel would always have its mysteries, he supposed. He glanced at Rory. "Uh –"

"He'll probably want to explain everything first," whispered Rory. "That'll buy us some time. Plus, he's actually bringing us close to his control console."

"True… Plus, he seems pretty light on guards. In fact, I can't see any," Benny muttered back. The movement stopped at the edge of the platform with a little jolt. They looked up, towards the chair.

The portly, middle-aged man leered down at them. "I might have known that it would be you two. But where's the other one? Evan – Ethan?"

Standing next to him, Rory felt Benny tense up, and heard his breathing change, particularly when he got the name wrong. He pressed his foot on top of Benny's by way of warning. There was a slight calming in Benny's manner. Their interrogator didn't seem to have noticed.

"Well, you two will have to do. But I had such hopes for you, Benjamin. You were _so_ good at English. I thought that that would make you one of the good ones. It wouldn't put you on _their_ side. The ones that want to stop me!"

Benny and Rory exchanged a confused look. "Who…?" asked Benny.

"_Them_," the man said, ominously, his eyes wide.

"OK…" muttered Rory to Benny. "He's completely lost it."

"Yep…" replied Benny. He smiled warily up at their teacher. "Er… What _exactly_ are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he barked.

"Not entirely, no," said Rory, looking around the room.

"Well, I've built hundreds of robots that will spread out across Whitechapel – across the world! – all programmed to eliminate mathematics!"

"You've _programmed_ them to destroy maths?" said Benny. "Isn't there a bit of an irony there…?"

"I see it more as poetic justice, Benny. But, if you like, call it irony." The man smiled. "And when all the mathematics in the world is destroyed, then these robots will go into the streets and spout poetry. Then the world will be a better place, and English will win, once and for all!"

"Can't – can't people like both?" suggested Rory.

"Impossible!"

"_I_ do," said Benny.

Their teacher frowned. "No, you don't. You _can't_."

"I _can_." Benny set his stance determinedly.

The man lost interest. "Really? Another disappointment, Weir. No focus." He stepped forwards, glaring at them both. "Now, what to do with you –"

Sighing, Benny waved his hand and reluctantly murmured something. Their teacher flew backwards, trailing, for some reason, orange smoke, and flopping back over the control panel.

Rory looked quizzically at Benny.

"What?" said Benny. "Why wait? I got bored. It was a line of dialogue that wasn't really going anywhere, except perhaps as exposition, and maybe to just make the conversation a bit longer; I was going to do it anyway, why not do it now?"

"True," said Rory. He looked a little bit disappointed, though.

"What's the problem?" asked Benny. "Oh – I get it – you _wanted_ the whole speech thing, and the trap, and –"

Rory nodded sheepishly. "The whole 'James Bond' thing, yeah." He sniffed. "A kid can have ambitions!"

"Other than being a vampire?" asked Benny, raising an eyebrow and stepping up onto the platform where he examined the dials and buttons. Now, which ones did which…?

"A vampire super-spy!" grinned Rory, jumping up next to him. "I'd be awesome at it, wouldn't I?" He grinned at Benny. "With the speed, and the strength, and the intelligence!" He slapped his hand exuberantly against the desk. "Yes! I'd be brilliant." He looked at his friend. "Benny?"

A cold expression on his face, Benny eyed Rory wearily. "Really? You think?"

"Yeah! Of course!"

"Well, then, double-oh-stupid, then activating all those robots was all part of the plan, was it?"

Rory frowned. "Wha –?" He looked down his arm and saw his hand pressing down a series of buttons. He looked up and took in the rows of robots slowly peeling away from the storage racks. "Oops…"

"Yeah… Nice one, Rory."

"Yes. Indeed."

They turned. Behind the control panel, their teacher rose up, half of his body morphing into metal. Jerkily, he smiled.

"How is that even possible? That's just sci-fi gone insane," said Rory, shaking his head. "And Benny! I didn't think you'd got rid of him permanently…"

"I didn't want to hurt him!" protested Benny. "I just –"

"What? Hoped that he'd just stay where he was?"

"Yes!" burst out Benny

"Well that was a good plan, wasn't it?" snapped Rory.

"Uh-hmm," said the man, clearing his throat pointedly. He levelled a long hollow tube at them that stuck out of his arm. It didn't look friendly. "_Fascinating_ as this conversation is, I think –"

Benny leapt at him, jamming his teeth into the man's neck. After a few moments, he broke away, and the man collapsed onto the ground. Benny poked him cautiously with his foot. "I don't think he's dead, but he's lost enough blood to keep him unconscious for a while. Rory? _Rory?_"

Rory stared at Benny, slightly taken aback. He edged away. "Feeling better now?"

"Hmm? Oh, er – um –" He clamped a hand across his mouth as he realised what he'd done. Then he put his hand inside his mouth. "Aaah!" He looked over at Rory, a pained expression on his face. "Should my teeth hurt this much?"

Rory frowned. "No…" He bent to look at their teacher. "Well, if you avoid trying to bite through a bit of their neck that's covered in metal."

"Ah. Oops." Benny gagged and pulled out a couple of shards of metal. "Remind me not to do that again… Does this mean I'm part of the club now?"

"Uh-huh," said Rory. "But if we keep up this conversation at the expense of dealing with all the robots, I don't think that you'll be a member for long…"

Still cupping his sore teeth, Benny looked around. The robots had formed a gigantic ring around them, and had stopped moving, swaying slightly.

"What do you reckon they do?" said Benny.

"Make tea…?" replied Rory, hopefully. There was a distinctly military sound that ratcheted around the room. "Maybe not…" He looked over at Benny. "Isn't there some kind of in-built law that robots can't harm humans?"

"Only in fiction, Rory," replied Benny. "Besides, aren't you forgetting that these robots were _built_ to kill people?"

"Only mathematicians…" said Rory. "Maybe we'll be O –"

There was a _schiiing_ sound, and a blade spun from one of the robots towards Rory. He ducked just in time, and it instead embedded itself in the wall.

" – K…" finished Rory, from the floor. "Why do you reckon it made that weird sound?"

Benny shrugged, and then dived to the floor as there was another _schiiing_ (Or maybe it was a _schiiiiing_, he wasn't really counting) and another sharp piece of metal slammed into the wall behind him. "No idea… But I think we should probably stop commenting on evens, and actually _deal_ with them."

"We never have before…" muttered Rory. "So, what –" He rolled to one side to dodge another projectile "– do we do? Being mindful of the fact that they seem to be gearing up to climb onto the platform."

"They can manage steps? That's pretty advanced –" Benny flung himself backwards. "They just keep throwing those things, don't they?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah, well, come _on_, Benny! We need a plan!"

"OK, OK, er…" Benny stared wildly around as the first of the robots stepped onto the platform. It was eerily silent. "The console! If you can turn them on, then we can turn them off again. All I need is a little while to work out how to do it."

Rory frowned. "Hey, wasn't that our original plan? Why didn't we keep to it?"

"I _tried_. _Robots!_"

"Oh, yeah. But, uh, Benny, they're getting really close now… There's nowhere to run!" Rory looked around, terrified. Backed up against the mainframe, they were surrounded on all sides, and the lead robot was staring down at them. It raised its arm.

"Rory?"

"Uh-huh…?"

"Fly!"


	18. I, Rory - Part 6

**O I say now these are the soul!**

The pair of them leapt up into the air, and hovered for a moment, throwing the robots into confusion. Before the robots could adjust, Benny came close to Rory and gabbled out a plan:

"We fly around, distracting them, going in different directions. Then, once they're completely lost, you keep their attention while I take a look at that computer. OK?"

Rory nodded, and flashed off to the left. Benny flew to the right. The robots split, following each of them. For a while, they zigzagged, and then flew in circles, each overlapping the other, and sending the two groups of robots crashing comically into each other, all the while dodging projectiles. They flew faster and faster, until it was impossible to tell which blur was Rory and which Benny, or even if both were the same. It was at that point that Benny peeled off and started to tap at the console.

Rory continued to distract them, flitting away from the flying shards of metal that followed him. Fortunately, there only seemed to be one type of robot, and they only had one type of weapon. Had they been armed with guns, or lasers, or something, then they'd really have been in trouble. But no. Random lumps of metal it was. Luckily. Though Rory was feeling less and less lucky as time went on. And then –

"Ahh!" he cried, as a lump of metal tore through his sleeve and into his arm. Not stopping flying, he clutched at it, and flew, unthinking, towards the platform. He landed next to Benny, who was staring intently into the screen.

Benny turned. "Rory? What are you doing?" Then he saw the dark blood on Rory's sleeve. "Are you OK?" he asked, worried. Then he saw the massed ranks of the robots closing in on them, and, his eyes wide, he quickly tapped in the last commands to the computer. The robots kept advancing. Had he failed? Were they going to die after all?

No. First, the robot nearest the platform keeled forwards and shattered on the round, followed by one after the other, until the whole room was ringing with the sound of breaking metal and cracking plastic. It took a couple of minutes for the crash to come to an end, and then the room was totally silent, except for the fizz and hum of the dying robots.

Benny briefly glanced around, before tending to Rory. "What happened?"

"Not quick enough…" said Rory, smiling wanly. "It's not too bad, though." He showed Benny. The blood was dry already; the wound wasn't deep. "Mum'll go crazy when she finds out that I've ripped my top, though…"

Benny nodded, reassured. "OK…" He looked around. "What now?"

"What about Mr Fiske?" asked Rory.

Benny went over to where their insane English teacher lay. Then he turned away, retching.

"Oh." Rory grimaced. "Dead?"

"Very…" groaned Benny, tears springing into his eyes. "I didn't mean to –"

"It was the robotics, Benny. His body couldn't cope," lied Rory. Snuffling, Benny hesitated, and then nodded in acceptance.

"I – I guess so…"

"Now, getting out," said Rory, looking around. "The way we came –"

"_Self-destruct sequence initiated_."

"Really?" cried Benny. "I don't believe this…" He looked around. Huge doors were opening, letting in a thick grey sludge. Already their entrance was cut off.

"Up there!" said Rory, pointing at a vent. "And quickly!"

* * *

"Well, that was a good way to start the morning. Wake up, have breakfast, defeat evil…" Benny grinned at Rory as he dusted himself down, having just clambered out of a pipe. They seemed a lot tighter a squeeze than he remembered. He looked up and down the corridor. "I think I could get back into the swing of things!"

Rory laughed. "Yeah." He pulled a face. "Now we actually have to go to _lessons_. Do you know what time it is?"

Benny looked at his watch. "It's –"

"You two!"

"– late?" murmured Rory, turning with Benny to where the sound of their principal's voice was coming from.

They stared, with open mouths – and, unfortunately, with open nostrils. His head and shoulders were covered in rubbish.

"Principal Hicks!" said Benny, frowning (and unable to stop himself from wrinkling his nose). "What happened?" (Rory tried urgently to nudge him) "Who did that to you?"

"_You_," he said. "I don't know how you did it, but there I was sitting in my office, and this was dumped on top of me. What did you do? Crawl around in the air vents?"

"No…" said Rory, trying to stand in front of the gap they had just come out of. At the same time, he noticed that Benny's ears had gone pink. That was unusual, for a vampire. Unfortunately, Principal Hicks saw what he was doing.

"I _knew_ it!" He glared at them both. "You two are in _so_ much trouble! Expect to be in detention from now until the end of this year. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir…" they mumbled, looking down at their shoes.

"Good." With that, he turned sharply, sending spatters of rubbish across the corridor, and leaving the two boys standing on their own.

There was a silence for a moment, and then Rory turned towards his friend with a scowl. "Benn –" He stopped suddenly when he saw how Benny was doubled over. "Are you OK?" he asked, putting a hand on Benny's shoulder.

Benny nodded, straightening a little, his face creased up with silent laughter. As he let it sound, Rory found it infectious, and was soon cracking up.

"Did you _see_ that?" snorted Benny, wiping the tears from his eyes. "And – when he turned!" He dissolved into giggles again, Rory happily following. Benny slumped against the wall, still laughing, and it was some time before they calmed down enough to go to their first lesson. To which they were late. And given detention for. To which they were going anyway, so they weren't really bothered…

* * *

"You know, Rory, I think that's my first proper detention. Saving loony teachers who want to kill me, I don't think I've ever been in trouble. You must be a bad influence."

Rory grinned sheepishly as they walked out of the gate together. He massaged one hand with the other, and then winced. "I didn't think they still made you write lines!"

Benny shrugged. "It's an old-fashioned school, I guess."

"Lots of heritage," said Rory.

"Serving the community for over a century," quoted Benny from the school prospectus. He grinned. "Could be worse, I suppose."

Rory nudged him. "Isn't your grandma going to kill you for getting a detention?"

Benny shrugged. "Maybe. But I don't think so. It's a normal thing for a kid to get. And there hasn't been a lot of normal recently."

"Yeah… Benny?"

"Mmm…?"

"You will say, won't you, if things start not to be normal again? You won't just bottle it all up again?" Rory looked over at Benny, genuinely concerned.

Benny didn't return his gaze. "Yeah, yeah…" he said.

"Benny!" said Rory, warningly.

Benny stopped and looked directly at his friend. "Yes. I promise." He looked around. They were at the end of his road. "Hey – uh – do you want to come over?"

Rory tried to smother a grin. "Well, er, I've got this other friend –" Then he couldn't help himself and burst out into a massive smile. "Of course!"

Benny laughed. "Come on, then. You can help me explain to Grandma!"

* * *

"You were right, Benny."

"I _u_sually am…" he replied, flicking a couple of sweets into his mouth.

"About your grandmother – Mrs Weir – She didn't seem cross at all. Almost pleased, actually."

Benny nodded. "Yes. I wonder how long that will last… Now, are we playing this game, or are you asking me questions?" he said, gesturing at the pause screen. There was a silence. "Rory?"

He looked around to see Rory, his legs crossed, frowning slightly at him. "Oh, sorry – I was just thinking…"

Benny watched him for a minute. He didn't say anything, so Benny did instead: "About…?" he prompted.

"What's it like?"

Benny frowned. "What's what like?"

"Being, er, um, with – what _was_ it like with, uh – being – um –"

Benny put down the controller and hugged his legs, rocking back and forth slowly on his bottom, his eyes vacant. "Being in love with Ethan?"

Rory looked down at his socks, fidgeting his toes inside them. "Yeah…"

"Well –" Benny hesitated. He smiled. He sighed. He smiled again. "You know how you love Erica?"

"Yes…?"

"It's just like that. The same as anyone loves anyone. I mean, _really_ loves," he said, wistfully. He focused on Rory. "And I still do. Love him, you know? I suspect I always will." He smiled sadly. "But he's not available right now. But he will be. Some day."

Benny cleared his throat and stood up suddenly. Surprised, Rory stood up too.

"I –I'm sorry I didn't mean to –"

Benny cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Shush. No, I was just thinking – it's Friday, after all – do you want to stay over?"

Rory blinked. "But – but that was always just you and Ethan... It was like a tradition."

"Then why don't we start a new one?" suggested Benny, raising an eyebrow.

Rory hesitated, and then grinned. "Awesome!" He frowned. "Surely, though, since we don't sleep –"

"We can stay up all night? Just what I thought!" grinned Benny.

Rory's eyes glinted. "Cool! I'll – I'll just have to get some stuff from home. _They_ still think I sleep."

He hurried out of the room. A moment later, he was back, looking slightly embarrassed.

"You're not – you're not going to try and kiss me are you?"

"_Rory!_ No!"

Rory bit his lip. "Good. Because, uh, I'm already taken – and she's pretty possessive…" Flashing another smile, he zoomed off again.

Benny stared at where he had been for a moment. He shook his head, snorting. Rory really could be strange sometimes. He supposed that it was hard for him to adjust to his and Ethan's relationship. Rory just didn't quite know where he was with him, anymore, but the reality was that nothing had changed at all.

Benny rolled his eyes, and turned to close the curtains, looking out at the dark house across the road. With a shiver, he pulled the curtains tightly shut.

"Already taken, are you, Rory?" he murmured. He stared wistfully through the curtains to where Ethan's house was hidden. "So am I…"


	19. Episode 4 - Keeping Score

**Episode 4. Reviews, as usual, very gladly received.**

* * *

Keeping Score

* * *

**O dark, dark, dark**

Some days were worse than others, Benny reckoned.

Well, more accurately, most days were actually OK now. It was the nights that were the problem. It had been a month now since Rory had managed to bring him out of his constant torpor; three months since –

Anyway, during the day, it was fine. Bearable, mostly – even, at times, he totally forgot, getting wrapped up in school, or hanging out with Rory, or even the occasional low-key monster. That was all OK. Better than OK, most of the time, in fact. _Normal_.

But then he went to bed. To rest. It would, of course, have been better if he could sleep, but he couldn't, so there he lay, staring into space, his mind wandering, until it eventually wandered where it always inevitably did: to Ethan.

He couldn't help it. Everything that had happened kept flashing into his mind. And, besides, Ethan had been such a huge part of his life that there was hardly anything that he could think of that didn't, in some way, touch on Ethan. Didn't bring up some memory of him. And now here he was again, thinking of Ethan. He thought about Ethan _not_ thinking about Ethan.

But again, sometimes it was manageable, and sometimes it wasn't. Tonight – he glanced at the clock on his right – this _morning_, it wasn't. It had been uppermost in his mind the whole time, almost since he'd said goodnight to his grandma and started to toss and turn under the sheets, desperately trying to think of something – anything – else.

Maybe he should get up. Start doing something else. He nuzzled his head into his pillow. He wished that this was all over…

He opened his eyes blearily and looked out across his room. Sometimes he thought that he could see Ethan. Just for a moment, out of the corner of his eye. He'd stop, and look, and it would be someone else. He rolled over. And froze.

It was just like that, in fact. He was sure – but no, Ethan couldn't be sitting in the chair. He just _couldn't _ be. It was a trick of the light, or the arrangement of clothes, or, or, or maybe he was just stressed and hallucinating. One of those things. And if he rolled back now, and had a proper look, he would see what it really was. Yes. Right.

He rolled back and stared into the room.

"Good morning, Benny," said Ethan, regarding him coolly over the top of a comic.

* * *

Ethan closed the comic and dropped it deftly off the side of the chair. "I hadn't read that one." He wrinkled his nose. "Quality's going downhill a bit, isn't it?"

One leg crossed lazily over the other, Ethan rested his chin on his steepled fingers, watching Benny intently. Half under the covers, Benny stared back, dumbstruck. He rolled over, hiding his head under the pillow, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"It's no use trying to pretend that I'm not here," said Ethan, in that achingly familiar voice. "Because I definitely am. And, really, is that any way to treat someone that you've not seen for three months? Let alone that someone also being your boyfriend…"

Benny raised himself up in the bed. "But _how_ can you be here?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.

"I went away. I came back. Did you miss me?"

Benny stared. Had he missed him? How could he even begin? And now here he was, sitting there just like he'd never left. Albeit dressed as he'd never seen him dressed before. Ethan was wearing a dark red suit, impeccably pressed, with a black shirt underneath.

He caught Benny's eye. "You've got to keep up some standards, Benny. On the stylish side of the world…" He stood up and swept over to the bed, perching on the side of it. He gazed into Benny's eyes, and Benny noticed that Ethan's right eye had changed. The pupil had blown, leaving very little iris, and what was left of that had gone bright red; the other one was normal. Noticing Benny's surprise, Ethan's mouth twitched a little at the side, revealing a blood-stained fang. "Well, there had to be something to distinguish good Ethan from bad Ethan, didn't there?" he said, lightly, sniggering.

Benny made no reply, causing Ethan's brow to dip in irritation. "Not very communicative today, are you? What happened to chatterbox Benny? _Booo_ring!" He bounced up and down on the bed, laughing to himself. He leaned in, grinning. "Was I on the news? Was I famous? Well? Tell me!"

Benny leaned away, nodding slightly. "For a bit… Then everyone forgot about it – Ethan – stop this!"

Ethan pouted. "Why should I? This is _fun_!" He thought for a moment. "Even if no-one seems to notice," he said, sourly.

"It's wrong!" protested Benny.

Ethan made a derisive noise. "Why's that then?"

"You've killed people!"

"Lots," agreed Ethan. "Your point?" He put a finger on Benny's forehead playfully. "For the record, so have _you_."

"You_ enjoyed_ it!"

Ethan smiled, his eyes glinting. "Of course! Why shouldn't I? The _power_ you get from it…"

Benny tried to squirm away, but Ethan put his arm down on Benny's other side, pinning him in position under the sheet, his arms and legs trapped.

"Now, that's no way to react towards me is it, B.?" said Ethan reproachfully.

"Don't call me that."

"But I always have done! It's what I call you, B."

"Don't!"

"Well," laughed Ethan, "how can I respond to that level of argument? Eh, B.?"

Benny glared at him, his eyes filling with tears. "Ethan…" he whispered.

"Ah, don't cry, Benny…" cooed Ethan, running his free hand across Benn's forehead. "I'm not just here to talk about me – wonderful though I am. I've come to see you with a little proposition."

Benny eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

Ethan brought his hand down until it was cupping Benny's chin. "Come with me, B. It'll be amazing. Just you and me, having fun, forever."

Benny twisted his head away. "And what would you count as 'fun'?"

Ethan drew his finger around the left side of Benny's jaw. "Oh, you know, more of the same." He licked his lips, leaving them, Benny thought, if anything, a little redder than they had been before. "You'd enjoy it, B., if you tried it." He put his mouth next to benny's ear. "Just let yourself go!" he whispered.

"No!"

"_Yessss._"

Benny flicked his head around, terrified. Ethan's head hung just above him; they were practically nose to nose.

"Don't you want to know what it's like, B.?" He fluttered his eyelashes. "Not even once?"

Benny found himself unable to move. Ethan's smile widened. Then, he bent his head down a little and stuck out his tongue. It was a dark red; a wet, sticky red, almost on the point of dripping fat globs onto Benny's face. Benny tried to turn away, but whatever it was that Ethan had done kept him absolutely rigid.

Ethan pressed the tip of his tongue on Benny's chin. He pressed down, and then pulled slowly up Benny's face. Benny stared up into Ethan's open mouth, gazing into the dark, warm, crimson cavern. There even seemed to be red liquid running down the walls of his mouth – and the smell! Benny was well used to the taste of blood now, but what came out of Ethan's mouth must have been what the stench of the tomb was like. Relentless, Ethan brought his tongue over Benny's nose and then along his forehead, finishing with a little flick. Judging from the spray, it was almost as if he'd only just finished drinking blood.

"There's some left if you want to share," grinned Ethan, seeming to read Benny's mind. Probably was reading Benny's mind. "Some guy just around the corner. Nice and fresh. He won't even be cold yet. Consider it a romantic meal for two. On me…" He laughed, in that strange laugh he had developed: high and choking.

"Ethan – please – come back!" croaked Benny.

"From where?" said Ethan, springing up. His face twisted angrily. "Why should I? Why do _I_ have to go along with what _you_ want? _Be_ like _you_ and everyone else? Why can't _you_ be like _me_ for once? Why must I change while you get to stay exactly as you are? Exactly as you like?" He glared at Benny. "Well?"

Freed from the stricture, Benny sat up in bed and extended his arm towards Ethan's. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Because I love you, E."

Ethan angry expression instantly melted. "What?" he said, in a soft voice, his eyes wide.

"I love you, Ethan. Always. Now, come on, and we can –"

Ethan cut him off with a sharp laugh. He leered cruelly at Benny. He giggled. "I had you going there, didn't I?" He snorted. "You really thought _that_ was going to work? The power of _love?_ That you tell me that you love me – which, by the way, I already know – and I just roll over like a little puppy? Run back and beg your forgiveness, my heart filled with the goodness of your love? What _have_ you been reading?"

Benny stared up at him, despairing. "Ethan –"

"But, since you were kind enough to offer!" grinned Ethan, leaning in a placing a massive kiss on Benny's lips, ignoring all of Benny's struggles and protestations. Eventually, with a great effort, Benny managed to push Ethan's face away.

"No!" cried Benny, his face streaming with tears. "No!" Distraught, he flung himself at Ethan. "Go away!"

Ethan took a step back, resulting in Benny falling to the floor. He sneered down at Benny, prostrate on the ground. "Well, the offer was there," he said, airily. "You chose to reject it." He took a few more steps. "See you around, B."

He vanished.

* * *

Benny blinked. Where had he gone? _How_ could he have gone?

He leaned forwards, and found himself tottering on the edge of the bed. He wrenched himself back.

Hang on – hadn't he just fallen out of bed? He frowned, confused. Had it really happened, or was he just hallucinating?

He really hoped that it hadn't happened. He felt sick just thinking about it. For Ethan to be back – and back like _that_. So cruel. So cold. So evil. He shuddered.

No. He was just stressed out. Missing Ethan. Working too hard. He just needed a drink.

Rubbing his eyes, Benny levered himself out of bed and made his way shakily along the corridor to the bathroom. He poured himself a glass of water, and drank it, sitting on the toilet lid. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to wipe out the memory of the vision. He let out a long sigh.

"Benny?" said his grandma, standing in the doorway. "Are you OK?" She pulled on the cord to turn on the light.

Benny screwed up his eyes at the brightness, so when he heard the shriek from his grandma, it took him a moment to see what she was looking at.

She was staring at him. He frowned, confused.

"What happened to your face?" she asked, horrified.

His stomach dropping, Benny fearfully put his fingertips to his forehead. They came back red at the ends.


	20. Keeping Score - Part 2

**Amid the blaze of noon**

"It was really him?" asked Rory.

Benny nodded, jittery, and sipped from the mug of tea that he was clutching in both hands. Perched on the edge of the chair, he rocked back and forth, still slightly dazed. There remained a red mark on his face, but that was now due to him vigorously scrubbing it clean. Every now and then, an automatic hand would leave the side of the cup and drift along his chin, mouth, nose, and forehead, before snapping back to the mug.

Rory glanced over at Mrs Weir, and then back at Benny. "Do you think he's back for good?"

Benny took a gulp of tea. "Yes…" he said, his voice quivering.

"What did he want?" asked Mrs Weir.

Benny hesitated. "Me." He sucked in his cheeks and chewed his lips nervously. "He wanted me to go with him."

"And did you?" said Rory, leaning forwards.

Benny just looked at him. Sheepish, Rory dropped his gaze to the table. Dully, Benny continued speaking. "Apart from that, he didn't seem to want anything in particular. He wanted to know whether anyone had noticed the deaths. He was disappointed to know that people had forgotten about it by now." He blinked a few times. "He said that he just wanted to have _fun_."

"Did he ask about his family? Jane?" said Mrs Weir.

Benny shook his head. "Nope. It was really a pretty Ethan-centric conversation."

"What do you think he's going to do?" said Rory, looking at the other two. "I mean, if he's back, from this evidence, it doesn't look like he's lying low." They shrugged. "And where's he going to stay? Someone else has moved in to his old house."

Benny shrugged. "For someone who's been travelling the country for the last three months, he was looking pretty dapper. I'd imagine that he's found somewhere to stay." He grimaced. "I don't really want to think how."

The others nodded. "Will he get in contact, or will we see it on the news?" said Rory.

Mrs Weir opened her mouth, but, before she could reply, there was the sound of the letterbox swinging shut.

Benny frowned at her. "That's early for post, isn't it?"

She nodded, got up, and went through to the hall. She returned a moment later, breathing unsteadily and holding an envelope in a trembling hand. She put it on the table between them. It was addressed to them all, and was written in very familiar handwriting. The ink was also an unnerving red colour, going slightly brown.

"Is that –?"

"Ethan's?" said Benny, swallowing. "Yeah…"

"No, I knew that, but is it, uh, written in _blood_?"

"That would just be too far, wouldn't it? Way over the top…" Benny spoke as if the words from coming from somewhere else, not really related to what he was thinking. He picked up the envelope and sniffed it. He nodded. "I'm afraid it is…"

He turned it over. It was sealed with a dark red stamp, too, but there was no way that you could get blood to do that – was there? He looked at the other two. "Should I?" he said.

They looked at each other, and then nodded in silence.

Benny put his thumb under the flap and flicked the envelope open. He took out a few sheet of notepaper, each filled with the dark red script, hardening at the edges. It read as follows:

_Dear Benny, Evelyn, and Rory,_

_I don't doubt that you'll be reading this together. I'm sure that as soon as I left, dear Benny ran off to tell you about the whole thing. But, Benny being Benny, he probably hasn't told you everything, and it probably didn't make sense. Let me make it clear to you:_

_It wasn't a hallucination – I'm back, and I'm back for good._

_And, now that I'm here, I'm going to do what I should have done years ago, and show this town who's really in charge. Whitechapel is mine, and I'm going to play with it for a while._

_I expect that you will want to try and stop me. You probably have high ideals about love, and friendship, and appeals to decency. Well, good luck with that rubbish. I don't particularly expect you to succeed, so I don't much mind. You've got to have something to occupy yourselves with; I have to have something of a challenge. You might have thought, while I've been gone, over how you might reason with me, and turn me back to being good. It won't work. I simply don't want to be, and nothing that you can say will change that. I've started into the abyss, and it rather likes the view._

_I think I'm going to enjoy this! It'll be nice to be back in my home town. You wouldn't _believe_ what I've been getting up to on my travels. But you're going to find out. And it's going to get even better._

_So, to celebrate, I propose that we play a little game. Hide and seek. Or something like that, anyway. Maybe more of an Easter Egg hunt. I missed Easter. Well, let's say that there are five gifts hidden somewhere around Whitechapel. All you have to do is find them before I do. And, because of old times' sake, I'm even going to give you a head start of – let's say – half an hour. Which has already started. The prize is – well, there is no prize. We'll just play this one for the points._

_Off you go, then. Have fun!_

_Love,_

_Ethan._

_P.S. I now realise that I was more than a little unfair in setting up the game, for it looks like I've given you nothing to go on. But don't worry, I've been kind, and, if you go out the back, I've left you something to point the way. Good luck!_

_P.P.S. B. – Since you didn't want the rest of that meal I offered you, I thought I'd put him to good use in writing this letter. Do you like it? – E. xx_

Shaking, Benny put the letter down, and, his eyes streaming with tears, he turned away.

Mrs Weir picked it up, and Rory leaning over her shoulder, followed it down, her face growing more and more disturbed as she read.

"'Point the way'?" said Rory, frowning. "That sounds – ominous…" He looked over at his friend. "Benny?" He reached over and gripped his hand. "Come on, Benny, we've got to stay focused on this. Even if it is Ethan."

"But it _is_ Ethan!" burst out Benny. "That's the big problem!" He buried his head in his hands. "I just – I didn't think – he could be – so – so –"

"Benny," said his grandma, softly, "I know this is difficult. _Too_ difficult. But there's nothing else to be done. We have to find out what he's up to, and stop him. Whatever we might want, this is not the Ethan that we used to know."

Benny sniffed and nodded, drawing himself up. "Yeah…" he mumbled. She passed him a tissue, and he wiped his face. He still looked as if he was going to burst into tears again, but he managed to hold it in.

He looked at the clock. "Half an hour – less, probably! What does he mean?"

Mrs Weir looked downcast. "I can only imagine that these 'gifts' are people. If we don't find them, he'll kill them."

"What if he's killed them already, and he's just toying with us?" asked Rory.

"It's possible," said Mrs Weir, shrugging. "But we have to hope not. We have to hope that we _can_ save these people."

Benny stood up suddenly, almost knocking his chair over. "Then we'd better see what he's left us, then."

He walked slowly towards the back door, the others close behind him. He pushed it open, tentative.

"There's nothing there!" said Rory, frowning. He scanned the garden. "Was he just making it up?"

Benny shook his head jerkily, and stepped out, towards something hanging from a piece of string. "This…" he mumbled.

"Isn't that always there –" started Rory, stopping when he realised what it was.

The three of them crowded around the bloodied finger. "Is it real?" asked Mrs Weir.

Benny paled. "It looks –"

Rory prodded it. "Fake. It's made of plastic." He frowned, and sucked at his own finger. "The blood's real enough, though."

"What's it pointing at?" asked Benny.

"The house…" replied his grandma, perplexed. They turned back, just as the door swung shut. On it was written another message, with the script dribbling slightly down the wood:

_Look for the star. _

_You remember. _

_The one you made for me._

_E._

At the top of the door were two numbers, also scribbled in blood.

_0 – 0_


End file.
